


thin red line

by orphan_account



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Anti is angry, Anti is sick & tired, Blood and Gore, Cannibalism, Collars, Desperation, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Gay Panic, Gore, Help, Leashes, M/M, Marking, Master/Pet, Obsession, Panic, Pax - Freeform, Please Don't Kill Me, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Screaming, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-02-27 23:50:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13259193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Anti doesn't want to sit in silence. Not anymore. Not when there's so much fun to have.And so, he is free, and he will take what he wants.





	1. goddamn right you should be scared of me

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry for this. Blame [cartoonjunkie's wonderful fanfic fuel](https://cartoonjunkie.deviantart.com/art/It-s-our-turn-630007646) because honestly... honestly.

     It was time for PAX East again. He’d flown out to Seattle like he did every year, a Markiplier and Friends panel planned like usual. This year, Jack was going to be in it, along with Ethan and Tyler. Mark would never admit it, but he really did miss having Jack at his panels. The last one they’d been in together was, from what Mark recalled, the Revelmode panel. In that, they’d been separated by teams, mostly by coincidence.

     Needless to say, he was excited to spend a panel with Jack. Mark knew Jack would fit right in; he and Ethan were close friends, and Mark was pretty certain that Jack and Tyler didn’t have anything against one other.

     So, yeah. He was extremely excited for this. Could you really blame him? Jack was easily one of his best friends, yet timezones and schedules kept them apart. It couldn’t be helped and it wasn’t intentional, but Mark was going to _relish_ his time with the Irishman like always.

     Maybe he’d even convince him to stay in America longer.

God, he hoped so.

     Sometimes, he thought it might be weird to pine over his best friend, and he’d often have conversations with Ethan, Tyler, Amy, or Kathyrn about it. He wasn’t one to hide his feelings, and he firmly believed that talking about his problems and concerns with a close friend helped.

     Every time he went to them, they’d tell him it was normal.

     “Mark, think about it,” Ethan had said one day while they’d been in the office. “Jack is, without a doubt, your best friend. You know how fast you guys hit it off. It was like, an instant thing. There’s always been a reason you were shipped together, y’know? You miss him. And it doesn’t have to be like that!” The younger man had flushed, glancing up from the computer his gaze had been fixated on. He’d smiled sheepishly, focusing on Mark and shrugging. “No, not like that. Just… I know it’d be easier if you two could see each other more often. Long distance _anything_ is hard.”

     Saying it like that, though, it sounded like Mark was questioning himself. He was bi, yes, and he knew that. Everyone except his fanbase knew that. Maybe it was normal to be a bit hesitant about where you stand with someone who means so much to you.

     Anyway, even if he _did_ like the Irishman, from what he knew, Jack was straight. Not only straight, but he’d just gone through his breakup with Signe.

     With the reassurance from his friends- and also himself, to a degree- he was able to move on and talk to Jack like a sane person, even when he’d invited him to the panel. He planned on keeping this up as he texted Jack for flight details, hotels, and room numbers.

 

     ‘ _Jackaboy: Mark, you’re too worried about this :p We’ve both been to PAX before, and I’ve been on panels with you before. there’s nothing to be so concerned about!_

_Mark: yeah, yeah. Still, what hotel will you be in again?_

_Jackaboy: Jesus you doof. The same one as you, we’ve gone over this >:(_

_Mark: okay, okay, okay!! sorry :[ text me when you get here, ok?? love uuuu_

_Jackaboy: whatever heh love u too <3’_

 

     That’d been their last conversation, and it’d occurred about an hour ago. Mark wasn’t concerned, really, since he knew that the airport Jack had flown to wasn’t exactly close to their hotel. He figured he should expect him soon, though.

     Their panel was later that day, so hopefully there was no delay with his flight or anything.

     Okay, maybe he was a _little_ panicked.

     It all turned out to be for nothing, though. Like planned, he and Jack met up in the hotel lobby, and everything was perfectly fine. Mark shoved his phone into his back pocket when Jack walked through the revolving doors, hair messy and his eyes tired. Instantly, the American’s eyes lit up, and he skipped over to his friend and practically pounced on him in excitement.

     “W-woah t’ere, buddy,” Jack stuttered, blushing as he dropped the bags in his right hand and lifted it to weakly wrap his arm around Mark. “Hello t’yeh, too, I guess.” He chuckled quietly.

     Mark just tightened his grip, positively beaming as he nestled his head into the crook of Jack’s neck. “I missed you so much. It’s so great to see you again.” He replied, voice muffled against the pale, milky skin of his friend.

     “I missed yeh too,” He managed a small smile, hesitantly untangling himself from Mark and stepping backward, grabbing his bags. “’M goin’ ta sign in an’ get me room key. I pro’lly won’ even go up t’ere yet, I’ll jus’ dump me shite in yer room since we’ve got ta go to th’ panel in a minute, if tha’ s’fine wit’ yeh?”

     The American nodded, clicking his tongue. “Give me your shit, I’ll take it up.”

     Jack seemed hesitant, holding the luggage close to him. “Are yeh sure? I mean, I can-”

     But Mark wasn’t having it. He gently started smacking at the Irishman, and they had a little tussle, giggling all the while. Half way through it, Mark snatched his bags, scooting away with them held tightly in his grip. “Fuck youuuu! I’m taking it, bye!”

     Jack flipped him off, sticking his tongue out and scrunching his nose. “W’atever, dick. I’ll meet yeh in yer room.”

 

* * *

 

     “Can you and Mark do a lil’ jig?”

     The Irishman grinned easily, glancing at Mark, who nodded in return. With this confirmation, Jack fixed the little squirrel beanie a fan had given him earlier in their panel, and he hopped up.

     Mark watched him extend a hand, and he took it, stumbling to his feet. “You mean, like we did at Indy Popcon in 2015? ‘Cause hell yeah! I’ve been practicing my Irish moves for this goober.” He pointed at Jack who had started blushing slightly. He ignored this behavior, wiggling his eyebrows and taking a deep breath. “Let’s do this, ya leprechaun!”

     “All yer gonna do is copy w’at I do!”

     “Pft, so?”

     Jack pouted and cracked his knuckles. “Yeh wanna go? Let’s fockin’ go, t’en,” He gave Mark a shit-eating grin. “On the count o’ three. One… two… three!”

     In nearly perfect sync, they began to kick their legs out, arms crossed against their chests. Everyone was cheering and laughing as they went.

     “Gooooo, nerds! Dance!” Ethan yelled, earning a loud burst of laughter from Tyler and the audience. “ _Dance!”_

     If you stopped everything there and took a photo, it’d definitely make it into a top 5 list of “photos taken right before disaster struck,” and that’s _of all time._ Before Mark had known it, the Irishman had tripped over one of the cords onstage, toppling into him.

     It was like… maybe ten or so seconds? But _God_ , those seconds felt like their own individual _eternities._ As if in slow motion, he observed, almost as though he were out of his body and peering through a glass panel. As if a moment he’d always thought would be private and personal was staged and shown for crazed visitors of a zoo, except this zoo was _insane,_ and this was a zoo where _the performing animals did not want to attend._

     Jack was falling, like any normal person would following a little trip on a wire, a breathy gasp escaping his lips while his face flushed. His blue eyes widened, pale arms flailing until they caught something sturdy. Fingers dug into Mark’s upper arms, and he instinctively stretched out his limbs, his own digits curling around Jack’s shoulders firmly in order to stop him from falling. He yanked the man toward him just to keep things safe.

     Unfortunately, he pulled a little bit too hard, causing Jack to collapse against him. From there, it was a chain reaction; not expecting the shift of weight, he stepped backward in an attempt to save the situation. Instead of this, he, too, fell backward, Jack landing on top of him.

     He honestly couldn’t hear anything aside from the pounding in his ears, his drumming heart, and his labored breath. Jack was staring down at him, gaze wild and face blood red. It was time for Mark to come to the rescue, and not fuck that up this time around.

     Despite his own embarrassment, he let out an easy laugh, rolling them over so that Jack was below him. Quickly, he stood, pulling his friend with him. “We’re good! Don’t even worry about it.” His grin widened, eyes darting back to the other two, who were smirking and giggling.

     As if the entire thing never happened, Ethan jumped up, quoting some popular vine. Everyone was sent into more fits of laughter, Ethan practically _rolling_ at this point.

     Although the mood very quickly lightened, Jack never seemed to really lift. His smiles and laughs seemed almost forced, and he avoided Mark for the remainder of the panel. He kept zoning out, staring idly at nothing for minutes until someone snapped him out of it. Mark could somewhat tell that, despite pretending, he had no idea what was going on after the little slip.

     After the panel was over, and everyone was getting their mics removed, Mark decided to ask about it. He’d seen the man enter the bathroom, looking stressed and scared.

     Knocking on the door to announce his entrance, he strolled in, glancing around almost anxiously. His eyes fell on Jack, whose back was turned to him. “Hey, Jackaboy. Are you okay? I noticed that you were a little upset after that stupid fall. You know it didn’t mean anything, right? It was just a mistake, and…” His voice fell off.

     There was a moment of silence before a nearly inhumane giggle sounded throughout the two-stalled bathroom, echoing off of every brick and filling Mark’s ears in a pleasing, exhilarating manner. His breath caught in his throat, and he was confused at the sudden intensity that crackled in the air. It was sudden and intruding, and for some reason, he felt like he couldn’t breathe. Was he imagining this? Was this real? _Wake up, Mark. Jesus._

     “Jack?” Mark’s voice was shaky and weak, hardly coming out as a whisper. What had gotten into him? Him as in himself, but also him as in Jack. The man was totally ignoring him, and was Mark imagining those little glitches on his person? Yeah, he must’ve been.

     Warily, he took a step forward, and Jack whipped around… except, this wasn’t Jack.

     His hair was an unruly mess, tossed every which way as if he’d just gotten out of bed from a four year nap. Upon closer inspection, one of his eyes was blue while the other was green, which was fucking… creepy, really. In curiosity, Mark’s eyes shifted to Jack’s ears, which were significantly pointier and were complimented with black gauges that Mark wouldn’t be opposed to on Jack’s regular profile. The man was noticeably glitching, and Mark noticed that his eyes were changing from the Heterochromia blue-green to an occasional pure black.

     In place of normal, _human_ teeth were sharp fangs that made Mark shiver, just because _what if those things bit him?_ God, that would fucking _hurt._

     The dead giveaway for what was happening was the very apparent contrast of Jack’s muted neck and a deep red slit across the throat. A cut that would definitely shatter one’s windpipe, preventing, well… _breathing._ With another quivering inhale, he let his gaze flick to those eyes, but only for a second. He couldn’t bare looking for too long. He would’ve continued his search of the body, but he was kind of afraid of what he might see next.

     This couldn’t be Anti. No.

     Anti was a fictional character, created by Jack’s fanbase and simply egged on by the man himself. He wasn’t real. Jack was just trying to scare him, and his eyes were playing tricks on him. He was dreaming or something. That was the _only_ explanation. Jack’s alter ego couldn’t _possibly_ exist, and nothing could tell him otherwise.

     He tried to tell Jack that this joke wasn’t funny. That he really wanted him to stop. But suddenly, his throat felt clogged, and he couldn’t speak a word. He couldn’t even whine. He was currently breathing through his nose, which was getting hard. He felt like his lungs weren’t even receiving anything he was breathing in.

     You could’ve sliced through the air itself with a damn knife, it was so tense and heavy.

     And now, this… man, this man that looked so strangely like Jack, was pacing toward him, and then he stopped. He stopped, just in front of Mark, reaching out with those long fingers and twisting them up in the American’s shirt collar.

     He was yanked into the nearest stall, and while this _impostor_ pinned him to the wall with an arm, they used the other one to lock the stall door.

     Then, there was a knife in the equation, and Mark had _no_ idea where that came from and wasn’t sure if he was particularly interested in figuring it out. However, he quickly came to realize he might as well _get_ interested, because the feeling of cool metal pressing lightly against his own tanned neck plagued him. A ripple of fear and confusion and a feeling he could only describe as _‘AHHHHHHHH’_ shuddered throughout his body, and he felt himself trembling pathetically under the hands of this man he knew as Anti, but how much did he really know? After all, he’d previously believed that Anti was made up. Fictional.

     Fictional, make-believe characters don’t pin you to walls and press knives to your throat, last Mark checked, so maybe he should get over it and think about this situation. _Really_ think about it, because it didn’t make sense to say Anti didn’t exist when he was standing _right in front of him._

     And then, Jack-turned-Anti grinned, letting out the signature giggle of his. It reverberated throughout his quivering self once more, again almost gratifying to his throbbing ears. Anti leaned against him, that knife of his pressing itself harder against his throat. He felt the man’s breathing in his ear, silencing the pounding in them and just filling all of the spaces he never knew needed filling. The breathing was replaced by his fluctuating voice, the pitch changing itself in an almost charming way, altering right at the perfect moments.

     “Nice ta meet yeh,” he whispered, and it felt like he was murmuring a deadly secret, one fatal enough to end the world itself. “’Ave we met? No? ‘M Anti, an’ yeh migh’ as well be pleased ta fockin' meet me, too.”


	2. butcher with a smile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Mark's guide to awkwardness: featuring Anti.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hell yeah

     No, Mark didn’t know what was going on. No, Mark didn’t want it. But also… he didn’t think he was _opposed_ to it, which was the weirdest part of all of this. He was… He was _okay_ with all of this. Well, he wouldn’t say he was okay with it, he was just confused and _happened_ to be leaning toward the ‘Wow, neat!’ side of things.

     He just wished that he’d had the ability to at least speak in this situation. Instead, Anti was standing there with that knife against Mark’s throat, whispering things to him that regretfully turned him on. This whole thing kept up until the door to the bathroom opened, and footsteps sounded against the tiles.

     Anti kept those confident eyes on Mark, the knife’s position unwavering. He just stared the American down, his mouth twisted into a smirk, his free hand occasionally lifting to brush against Mark’s cheek or card through his hair. It was oddly charming, and that’s what Mark hated. If he closed his eyes and forgot about that sharp edge pressed slightly into his neck, this could be Jack. And why did he want that? Why did he want Jack?

     He knew how pitiful he looked, with his eyes shut tightly and his palms sweating and every _filthy_ word that poured from Anti’s mouth filling his ears and only slightly making his dick twitch. Okay, that last part was a lie; he was extremely fucking hard, and Anti knew it. The fucker was pressing against him, rolling his hips in a way that made Mark bite his lip to prevent the moan that threatened to escape.

     Fuck this douche, in every sense of the phrase.

     Mark only barely heard the door shut again, telling him that whoever had come in had finally left after what’d felt like an eternity and a half.

     Except Anti was off of him now, and the cool air rushed over his clammy body, making him shudder. There was an imprint on his skin from where the knife had been pressed, but he didn’t care about that. He was literally in pain from his erection, and he could tell this amused Anti, who just kept the smug grin on his face.

     The… whatever-the-fuck-this-dick-was clicked his tongue, eyes scanning Mark for a moment. “T’at s’good. Yeh make a good toy, y’know t’at?” He smiled in a disgustingly genuine manner, though Mark had this _strange_ inkling that it was sarcastic. “Anyway, careful when yeh find yerself alone wit’ Jack, kitten. He’s _weak._ I own ‘im, an’ I’ll make sure yeh know that I own _you,_ too.”

     And Mark was shuddering again, a little whimper escaping his lips. That was embarrassing.

     Anti giggled again, sliding the lock on the door and hesitating for a moment. He whipped around, winking at Mark. “An’ good luck wit’ t’at.” He purred, motioning down to his pants before striding out of the stall, slamming the door shut and leaving Mark to deal with his problem.

 

* * *

 

     When he finally walked out of the bathroom, Jack was the only one left backstage. _Jack,_ not Anti. The Irishman was staring at his hands as he twisted them together and paced up and down the room. He was muttering to himself, very clearly stressed about what had happened.

     Mark couldn’t decide if he should bring it up for wait for Jack to do it. He just stood at the bathroom door, tapping his feet and twiddling his thumbs. This was fucking awkward, and they both knew it. The air was heavy with unspoken words and a pining for explanations.

     Minutes that felt like decades passed before Jack finally spoke, his voice quiet and shaky. “I can’t… ‘m sorry… I jus’,” he took a useless breath. “I can’t control ‘im, Mark. ‘E knows ‘ow ta take over an’ t’en there’s nothin’ I can do ‘cause ‘m just not _strong_ enough, an’ now ‘m _focked_ ‘cause he likes yeh. I want ta protect yeh, but I can’t anymore, Mark! I never… I didn’ t’ink t’at he’d actually confront yeh… H-he won’t hurt yeh, he won’t, I- I promise…”

     The American listened to his rushed rambling, waiting until he had nothing left to say to walk up to Jack. “You’re okay, Jack,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I just… can we go back to my room and talk about this…?”

     Jack looked hesitant, his eyes darting around and then catching at the door, where Ethan was walking in.

     “Hey!” He waved to them, but seemed to regret walking in when Jack’s exasperated gaze found him and Mark shot him a look. “Uh… Bad timing? I didn’t mean to interrupt or anything, we just got worried because you guys just kinda disappeared on us and everything, and we were gonna go get burgers and shit…” There was a long stretch of silence that was filled with glances between Jack and Mark. “O-okay, should I go, because-”

     “No!” Jack shouted, a bit too quickly. He seemed to catch this, because his eyes traveled in some random direction. Softer, he went on, “No, we were jus’ makin’ plans, bu’ we’re done now,” Ocean blue landed on warm chocolate. “Righ’, Mark?”

     Mark nodded, a small smile on his face. “Right. Sorry to be so weird, Ethan. Are you guys getting burgers right now?”

     Ethan, still wary, nodded a little. “It’s okay. But yeah, we are, if you two are free?”

     The American’s gaze landed on Jack again, who was biting his lip in uncertainty. Mark gripped the Irishman’s upper arm gently, craning his neck to whisper in his ear, “He won’t come out around them, will he?”

     Almost fearfully, Jack’s jaw clenched harder around his lip while he gently shook his head.

     “Good,” Mark muttered, shifting his stare back to Ethan, who just looked sheepish and apprehensive, his hands clasped together behind his back. In a louder voice, Mark went on. “We’re free…! Both of us. Together. Yep.” Shit. _Shit._ Mission abort. That didn’t turn out how Mark had wanted it to at all. _Oh no. Oh no. Oh no. Don’t panic, Mark, don’t you do it._

     The youngest of the three did not look convinced, his eyes narrowed slightly and his feet fidgety. Still yet, he just shrugged uncomfortably and let out an awkward laugh. “Ah… Uh, if you say so! C’mon then, Tyler probably thinks you guys kidnapped me and murdered me or something.” He let out a tiny laugh, smiling a little.

     Mark knew he was trying to lighten the mood, but a glance to Jack told him that joke was a bit too real for either of them right now. He let himself keep staring at the Irishman, and those blue eyes met his. Mark could’ve _sworn_ one of them flashed grin, for just a second, but maybe he was just being paranoid.

     And then Jack laughed; a little giggle. If it’d been any other time, Mark probably would’ve passed it off as a cute nervous reaction to the whole situation, but that small snicker was a bit too… _Anti_ than he could handle right now. He just forced himself to laugh lightly, releasing Jack’s arm from the death grip he’d only just realized he’d had on it.

 

* * *

 

     “Stop throwin’ fries at me, dick!”

     “Never.” Mark smirked, tossing another fry across the table and watching it hit Jack in the cheek. He hadn’t expected his victim to catch it, lick it, and then retaliate by throwing it back at him. The fry hit his upper lip, and he stuck his tongue out, making exaggerated spitting noises while he scrubbed at his lips. “Gross! You’re _disgusting,_ ya tiny Irish bastard!” He tried to keep up the act, but he broke eventually, busting out laughing.

     The other two were very clearly stuck between fear of getting pulled in and just laughing at the situation. Despite this, once their friends were rendered helpless from their laughter, Ethan and Tyler _had_ to join in.

     “You two are fucking idiots,” Ethan said while he battled through his hysterics, wiping tears from his eyes. “We can’t take you two anywhere anymore!”

     At this point, Mark was wheezing, tears streaming down his face. “But Mom,” he whined, still chortling. “I like fries and burgers!”

     Tyler took a deep breath, still chuckling. “Only good boys get burgers and fries.”

     And Mark laughed even harder, his lungs pretty much crushing themselves from lack of oxygen. He didn’t see Jack lean across the table so he was next to his ear and he had to strain to hear what he whispered.

     Only, it wasn’t Jack whispering to him, and this was the first thing he noticed. He could tell in the way his airways suddenly clogged, causing him to release a choked sound, as if just the presence of the monster who had somehow slipped his way out in public was enough to cut off his air supply. All of this without even realizing it wasn’t Jack.

     Anti had muttered in that jumpy and glitchy voice, far too lightly for who- _and what-_ he was, and that Irish lilt Mark loved far too apparent and thick: “Y’know, Merk… bad boys don’ get rewarded, do t’ey, darlin’?”  
     That was enough to cease Mark’s laughter, his eyes wide and panicky. With baited breath, he leaned back against the booth, his hands clutching the table so hard his knuckles were tinged white. He shoved himself from his state of shock, taking a deep breath and forcing another round of laughter, his eyes frozen on Jack.

     Just as quick as he had come, Anti was gone. Jack seemed aware of what’d happened: his eyes were just as wide as Mark’s and his face was clammy and flushed.

     Mark knew they _really_ needed to talk about this. Hadn’t Jack informed him that Anti wouldn’t show himself in public?

     They locked eyes again, but only for a split second before Mark was turning to look at Tyler and Ethan, who hadn’t seemed to notice anything off.

     Another thing Mark knew was that Anti would be the death of not only him, but Jack, too.

     “Guys, I need to talk to Jack alone for a sec, if you’ll let us out.” Mark announced, his eyebrows furrowed in concern.

     Tyler blinked absently, standing up as he cocked his head and asked, “What’s up?” He pulled Ethan up, who seemed just as confused as Tyler was.

     The Irishman began shimmying out of the booth, hands shaky. “It’s a… personal t’ing. Jus’… please don’ ask, ‘kay? We’ll be righ’ back.” He grabbed Mark and pulled him the rest of the way out, dragging him by the arm while the American just tossed an apologetic look at Ethan and Tyler, who were bewildered and lost as they watch Jack scuttle toward the bathroom.

     Once they’d made their way to the bathroom, Jack let Mark go, instead using his hand to ruffle his hair in a stressed manner. “I dunno w’at the fock ‘m gonna do, Mark! ‘E s’never jus’, _come ou’_ in public like t’at!” The younger man was pacing, his footsteps echoing against the tiles, bringing Mark back to the encounter with Anti from earlier that day.

     Despite Mark’s own worries and questions, he quickly grabbed one of Jack’s hands and gripped his wrist, stopping his pacing and the panicked hair tousling. “I swear to God, if you don’t stop pacing I’ll go _nuts._ ”

     With a groan, he released Jack’s wrist, holding his head in his hands. “Okay, can we just… I just… what the fuck _is_ Anti? I didn’t even realize he was fucking real until he was pressing a knife against my throat.”

     Jack resorted to wringing his hands, twining his fingers in different ways and sort of just linking them absentmindedly in order to distract himself. “I don’… I dunno ‘ow ta explain ‘im. He’s never been fake, t’ough. He s’always t’ere an’ ‘e… I don’ want ta talk t’yeh abou’ why ‘e suddenly likes yeh, okay? It’s embarrassing! Jus’… know it wasn’ a sudden t’ing. It wasn’ until recen’ly t’at he promised not ta hurt yeh, so I let me guard down. Why th’fock I believed the fockin’ demon in my ‘ead, don’ even ask, okay? ‘E didn’ hurt yeh, bu’ he could’ve an’ it would’ve been my faul’!”

     “Jesus, Jack, calm down! We’re okay. He won’t…” He gulped, clicking his tongue, realizing that his confident facade  _did_ have an eventual end to it. “I don’t think he’ll hurt me. Like, he might. But I’ll be fine! Wait, wait, why isn’t he here now?”

     The Irishman sighed, rubbing his eyes and visibly suppressing a yawn. “I t’ink ‘e s’tired. An’ t’at makes me tired. ‘M fockin’… _exhausted…_ Jaysis…” He couldn’t stop the loud yawn this time, and Mark watched his head loll to the side, his eyes fluttering shut.

          He didn’t even know what to fucking do in this situation, because Jack had just fallen asleep standing up for seemingly no reason. Therefore, he just kind of went with his gut instinct, lunging forward to catch Jack in his arms before he could collapse to the floor. He was fortunate that the little diner they’d gone to was empty aside from them, because if it’d been at all crowded, he would’ve definitely been given some looks.

     The bathroom door swung shut behind him as he held Jack bridal style in his arms. He tried his best not to look panicked as Ethan and Tyler both shifted to look at him. Their facial expressions changed into ones of shock, and Mark groaned.

     “Someone pay the bill. He’s fine, he just… said he was really tired all of a sudden and he almost collapsed and shit. I’m taking him to the car, just meet me there, okay?”

     One of them let out a dumbfounded and shaky agreement while Mark just trudged out the door, searching for their rental car in the chilly parking lot of the tiny diner.

     He was pretty sure Jack was fine.

     …He _hoped_ Jack was fine.

     With a quiet groan, he shuffled as quickly as he could with a grown man in his arms over to the car. Though at first he’d been wary of leaving it unlocked, he was pretty fucking glad they had now. Awkwardly, he scrambled closer to the back door, trying his best to pull it open.

     After a few tries, he’d gotten it open. He shoved it so it was completely ajar using his ass, because at the moment everything else was occupied. Gently, he laid Jack onto his back, covering him the best he could using their jackets.

     Jack’s expression was eerily peaceful throughout the entire thing. Pushing this aside, he clambered into the car, shutting the door behind him. Mark hunched his back so his head didn’t hit the roof and stood there, trying to find somewhere he could wiggle himself into.

     In the end, he was pressed against the window with Jack’s head in his lap. Knowing this was as good as it was gonna get, he just sighed to himself in defeat and waited in silence for Ethan and Tyler.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> c;


	3. we all scream 'cause we're terrified

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark is introduced to Anti's ltitle game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What the fucking fuck I'm on a roll how's yhis happenin aHHH

     Mark was trying to be fucking nice. Not for Anti, but for _Jack_. Jack had passed out, Mark had helped, because he was a good friend. A good _person_. He tried to be a good person, and he mostly succeeded, in his opinion. Maybe that made him a selfish douche, _who knew._  
     All this niceness. He'd been helping _Jack_ , but from what the Irishman had said, Jack sleeping meant _Anti_ was regenerating, too. Only, Mark had forgotten that Anti was _far_ from human.  
     The rustle in his lap, not even a minute after he'd gotten into the car, startled Mark, but also relieved him. Jack was back! He was doing fine!  
     Except, no, this wasn't fucking _Jack_.  
     When his eyes wandered excitedly down to his lap to meet Jack's baby blues, so calming and so endless, he was met with the mismatched irises and occasional black glitching of none other than Anti.   
     Mark jumped at _least_ six feet, shoving the glitch off of him in something kin to extreme disgust. "H-how the _fuck_?" He watched as Anti glitched back into his seat, the space around him filled with leftover pieces of himself, and thick with white noise that sounded like a radio that couldn't pick up a signal. "Why the _fuck_ are you here?" He spat.  
     "Play nice, now, Merk," Anti giggled distantly, head tilted at a disgusting, _sickly_ angle. Pixels appeared out of nothing into his hand, forming his usual blood-stained knife in less than a second.  
     Without thinking, Mark idly commented, "You should probably clean that thing sometime." Immediately afterward, his hand covered his mouth, and he could've passed out from fear at the mere _expression_ Anti had on his features.  
     Anti didn't hesitate, flinging the knife toward Mark. He tried to scream, _tried_ to duck in fear, but any attempt to speak resulted in a strained gurgling noise and he was _frozen_ , his eyes unable to look anywhere but straight ahead. The knife was _just_ visible in his peripheral vision, and he wanted to close his eyes, look away, _anything_ , but he _couldn't_.   
     Searing, white-hot pain stung through his ear, making his breath catch in his throat. A sharp pain echoed through his entire body, and he would've groaned if the blood he'd felt in his throat hadn't started gushing out, flooding his tongue and taste buds with the iron tang of the crimson liquid. He felt it seeping out of his lips, overflowing and pouring down his chin.   
     The knife had nicked Mark's ear. He felt a drop of blood, curving down the shell of his ear and following its bend, tickling him even. It was so unpleasant, so _revolting_ , but he almost... _enjoyed_ it.   
     Shattering glass beside his ear deafened him. Rather than your typical crashing sound, all he heard was static, as if a wave of electricity had just washed over him, paralyzing him and numbing him, yet making him _quiver_ all at once. Tiny shards of glass dug into his skin; they coated the back of his neck and ear. Internally, he was _screaming_ , and he wanted to unleash _all of it_ out of his mind but _his_ mind wasn't… _his_.  
     As if the moment was turned back in time, the knife flew back through the window, only backward this time. Anti snatched it right as it came into reach. Another inhumane giggle, and he was speaking in his distorted voice, "'M _so_ sorry, doll. I missed. Teaches yeh who's in control, t'ough, doesn' it?"   
     Anti's entire body twitched, glitching into grotesque poses that _no_ human could make, but only for a _single_ second. As if a secret, for Mark and Mark alone. It made him feel strangely... _special_.  
     Despite the damage to the car being rewound, the window in mint condition and the knife back in Anti's possession, the nicks and cuts on Mark's body hadn't gone _anywhere_.   
     "We're goin' ta go. Somew'ere we can be alone. _Jus_ ' th'two a'us, doesn' t'at sound _fun_ , Merk?" Anti grinned, flashing his razor sharp teeth. It _wasn't_ a _question_. Another secret for Mark to keep, for Mark to hold close to him.  
     The American… wasn't sure how to respond. He wasn't sure if he _could_ respond. He feared that the smallest movement of his tongue would cause his body to betray itself again.   
     Anti's eye twitched, and he hissed, lurching forward to grab Mark's shirt collar forcefully. He held the knife to his throat, watching with a pleased expression as his Adam's Apple bobbed up in down in genuine _terror_. "When I speak t'yeh, _pet_ ," He spat the word, their faces maybe an inch apart. "I expect yeh ta _answer me_. Are we clear?"  
     Shakily, Mark answered, "Y-yes, sir. That s-sounds like… fun," his voice was wrecked. Completely, utterly wrecked, and he would've been embarrassed but he couldn't bother. Not at this point, anyway. He looked down, hiding himself and also not wanting to see whatever ecstatic expression Anti had. Mark had just _lost_.  
     The hand that was twisted in Mark's collar loosened, moving up to his chin to tilt his head up with his fingers. Anti was smirking as he whispered, his breath... itchy, yet soft against Mark's lips, " _Good boy_."  
     He heard the banter of Ethan and Tyler in the distance. They'd just walked out of the diner. How the _fuck_ was Mark supposed to explain this? He couldn't. He fucking _couldn't_. A wave of panic rushed over him.   
     As if sensing his anxiety, Anti held out a slip of paper that had writing scrawled on it; writing that mimicked his own. His mouth went dry and he felt _sick_. Slowly, he read it.   
      _Sorry for ditching. Jack wasn't feeling well after he woke up. We went back to my house, just a walk. Fresh air and shit. Thanks for understanding losers_

 _-your favorite fuck face,_  
     There was an expectant blank where Mark should sign his name, and every part of this felt _wrong_. He was lying to his friends, jeopardizing Jack's safety, and he was about to be literal _putty_ in Anti's hands without even knowing _where they were off to,_ or what exactly he _planned_ on doing.  
     The voices neared, and Anti's face was split practically in _half_ with a sharp grin, his eyes entirely black. He held the pen in his free hand closer to Mark, who frantically looked out at Ethan and Tyler.  
     He needed time.  
     He didn't _have_ time.  
     Still trembling, his unsteady hand grabbed the pen. He could have _sworn_ some sort of inky black essence seeped into his skin, but maybe he was paranoid. A chill invaded his body, and he looked back at Anti for a split second, his eyes wide.  
     The virus' face was unwavering as Mark wrote his name sloppily, and still so, even as he whispered again, " _Good boy._ "  
     The words wrapped around his mind, coating it in a fog that he couldn't get past. He felt dizzy, and he wasn't sure if the glitchy, multicolored tendrils that surrounded him, sourcing from Anti's body, were real or fake.  
     A distorted, ear-splitting noise cracked at him, something so... _foreign_ that he wasn't sure how to describe it. Or if there was a word _to_ describe it, even. A few heartbeats of total silence, pitch black, and an aching chill passed, and then he was standing on solid ground.  
     Solid ground. He wanted to kiss it, like people who'd survived an airplane crash do in the movies, but it was dank and chilly, _echoing_ with loss and remorse and _suffering_. In the distance, the soft, dripping sound of water splashing rhythmically on stone floor reverberated throughout the room. At any other point in time, it would've been soothing.  
     He shivered, whipping around and expecting Anti, only to be met with total blackness. He _really_ wished he'd been greeted with the former, because that had _some_ sense of familiarity.   
     Silently, he turned forwards again, taking a fearful and cautious step...  
     Everything went dark.

* * *

     "…fockin' idiot! Yeh let go a'me! Did yeh _not_ 'ear me say ta hold on? W'atever. I couldn' give two _shites_ anyways."

     A familiar mangled voice filled Mark's ears. It seemed that he'd awoken in the middle of an angry tangent, which sort of worried Mark. He shoved it down.   
     Feebly, he tried to stretch his arms, only to find that his wrists were bound to something. A bit of touching told him it was wood, maybe a chair? An attempt to kick out a leg also told him his ankles were tied to what he assumed were chair _legs_.  
     Something was around his throat. He thought it felt a little similar to something he'd worn before, maybe for a video or something, but he couldn't put his finger on it. …Figuratively _and_ literally.  
     Anti was across the small room. Mark thought that he might be in the center of it, which was _extremely_ horrifying, because he was _extremely_ exposed and vulnerable.   
     The alter ego turned around, smirking at the sight of Mark and his total terror. "Mornin', pet," his voice was a murmur, but it somehow managed to fill the entire room. "Did yeh sleep well?"  
     Mark tried to speak, only to realize that he was fucking _gagged_. Instead of freaking out, he nodded vigorously, still cursing at himself for the delayed realization. Anti was walking toward him, something made of leather in his hands, and Mark was _certain_ he was going to _fucking die._  
     "Good," Anti drawled, and Mark had forgotten he'd even responded to the question. The glitch was silent, circling Mark like caught prey that he couldn't decide how he wanted to kill.  
     It was _too silent._ Anti's _too-gentle_ footsteps filled his ears, and he _hated_ them. He _wished_ he'd stop pacing, _wished_ he'd stop rotating around Mark like a planet would the sun, _wished_ he'd get those hungry, mixed eyes... _away_.  
     "Merk," a _too-soft_ voice, almost velvety, so... _off-putting_ when paired with the corrupted melody. "T'ere are a couple diff'rent ways ta play me game. I call t'em 'easy' an' 'hard,' respectively…"  
     Mark's eyes followed Anti, a sense of dread pressing onto him. He couldn't breathe again. His eyes fell shut, and he clenched his jaw, too afraid to look. The footsteps came to a stop, vibrating off the walls _one final time_ before dying out, leaving the room _eerily_ silent.  
     Suddenly, he wished Anti was pacing again.  
     "'M nice enough ta let yeh pick which one ye'd rat'er play."  
     The American could tell Anti was right in front of him, could _feel_ his electric aura and the warped atmosphere. It was _suffocating_.  
     Eyes still shut tightly, he felt the gentle tug at what was clasped around his neck, and the sound of metal clinking as though two objects were being hooked together.   
     "If yeh _obey_ me…"  
     Mark opened his eyes, watching Anti move. That was a fucking _leash_ looped around his hand, which meant he was…  
     Suddenly, the whole "pet" obsession made sense.   
     The leash abruptly snapped, jerking Mark forward. He recoiled, making an unnatural and choked noise as he was yanked. The leash was twisted a few extra times around Anti's pale, ghostly hand, leaving Mark _maybe_ two inches to utilize.   
     Anti's face was close again, and Mark almost closed his eyes, but something compelled him to leave them open, and he couldn't describe it. It was like he didn't even _need_ to blink anymore.  
     "If ye _obey_ , we play th'easy way."   
     Mark watched expectantly, like a school child waiting for instructions on his work. He was curious as to what "the easy way" meant. What made it easy? Why was the other way so _hard_? Something told him he didn't want to find out, whatever he did.  
     But hadn't Jack said Anti wouldn't hurt him? The malfunction already _had_ , and Mark didn't know why Anti _wouldn't_ want to hurt him. Though, to be fair, he wasn't sure why Anti _wanted_ to hurt him, either.  
     "If yeh _disobey_ …"  
     Mercilessly, Anti tightened the collar around Mark's neck, effectively cutting off his air supply. He pulled against the restraints on his wrists, trying to break them to free himself. He gasped for air, panting and heaving.  
     He was lightheaded and dizzy, and black spots dotted his vision, slowly clouding everything in the world. He couldn't breathe. He was _dying_. Anti was _suffocating him_.  
     The collar loosened, and Mark's lungs ached as he replenished them with air, his entire body quivering with each heavy and desperate inhale. The long, drawn out, high pitched giggle Anti gave in response was _repulsive_.  
     "Disobeyin' will lead ta _punishmen_ '," Anti's eyes darkened, locking onto Mark's bewildered and unfocused gaze. "D'yeh understan', t'en?"  
     Mark gave a stiff nod, trying to pull himself from the haziness that the temporary lack of oxygen had tossed him into.  
     Anti laughed, giving Mark some more leash to work with and a little personal space. He smiled slyly, edges of his eyes crinkling.  
     "Let the games begin, Markimoo."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ffffffuxk thank you guys for all your support I love you all and all the comments ever thanks for reading my shitty stuff ♡♡♡♡


	4. lies (and all their repercussions)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anti doesn't like lies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took a while and it could be better. Sorry if it's not quite up to par ♡
> 
> Also, before I get into this, I wanted to mention pepole who never fail to make my day better.
> 
> PoemIsDead (Ryo)- literally the only reason i smile sometimes. Never fails to make me happy and always knows what to say. We met through this site and I'm so happy that we did because my life is a thousand times better now ♡ also a fucking legend when it comes to writing
> 
> At_the_moment- comments on all of my shit and supports everything. Sososo sweet and has yelled Hamilton with me like a couple times or something? I love all our convos
> 
> GodLikesBoysToo- SO PURE AND NICE AND WAY TOO SWEET TO ME, FUCKING LOVELY
> 
> fallenfromthestars- honestly every comment from you is so fucking nice and encouraging and just.. good. I get so happy when I see comments from ya in my inbox aaah
> 
> That's all I've got off the top of my head? Oh and some others: Markiplierfan123, Harukaisakoi, phonenix, Chloe_Brownie13, Airspritegal, Mouser1317, Mjb, and OH GOD I'VE RUN OUT OF PEOPLE THAT MY MIND INSTANTLY GOES TO
> 
> Thanks to all of those people. You guys make me so fuckin happy and all your comments matter to me. The same goes for everyone else not mentioned (including you, guests ♡) All of you matter to me and your names just stick with me. You're all wonderful people and I hope you know that. I'm always here for you, even if you just wanna have an AAAAAHHH war or a fucking sing off in the comments or something. I love you ♡
> 
> Without further ado, let's get into this shite

     Mark had never been more afraid. His best friend's _demon_ was currently holding a _leather riding crop,_ brandishing at him threateningly. Actually, no. Not _threateningly_. The way he was holding it was an unspoken _promise_ , one that spoke louder than _anything_ that would ever come out of Anti's mouth.   
     The American had enough sense to refrain from asking what he planned on doing with _that_. Instead, he sucked up his pride and tossed out his dignity, waiting for something to happen in a submissive manner. Only then did Anti speak, a satisfied grin splitting his face.  
     "So, Merk, let's go over some rules," he glitched from his spot in front of Mark to behind him, his elbows on the back of the chair, head hanging over Mark's. "Firs' s'pretty simple. _Obey me._ "  
     Mark could've sworn that his voice deepened on the last two words; it glitched more than usual, at least. Swallowing his self-control, he asked, "If I don't?"  
     There was an icy silence, and Mark could actually _feel_ the sudden absence of the voltaic feeling that was...  _etched_ into the air surrounding Anti _anywhere he went_. It felt strangely _wrong_ ; too cold, and empty. _Boring_.   
     And then it was back, accompanied by the strong radio static noise. Mark almost thought he could pick something out of it, but it hurt his head to hear it, nevermind _focus_ on it. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Anti again, still wearing that impish- almost _giddy_ \- smile.   
     "I t'ink i's time I taugh' yeh a t'ing or two abou' me, Merk. Our firs' game. Bu' i's gonna take patience from yeh. Can yeh do t'at for me?" The faux-kindness in his voice almost shocked Mark.  
     But he wasn't fooled. Things were never a _choice_ with Anti. They were never a _question_. It wasn't life or death, it was _death, period_. Mark had learned that in the short time he'd had with the monster. You agreed or you _died_ , and that was the end of it. He had no mercy, and frankly, he didn't care if you liked his way of running the show or not. Mark wasn't stupid. A _lot_ of things, yes, but not _stupid_.  
     So he decided to surprise his assailant. "Yes, Anti. I can."  
     God, it hurt. It hurt _so much_ to conform, to give in, to _let him win._ But he knew it was the _only_ way to make sure this wasn't as bad as it _could_ be. He had no doubt that Anti wouldn't hesitate to kill him if need be.  
     The shaken expression on the glitch's face made it worth it, though. "'M glad yeh finally want ta 'ave fun wit' me. I wasn' expectin' yeh ta be such a... _good boy_. I'll 'old off me game a little longer. W'at d'yeh say?"  
     "Thank you, Anti."  
     The inhumane giggle Anti gave in response gave Mark chills, and he didn't have the strength in him to suppress them. He let his eyes flutter shut for a moment before flicking them open again. It was worth a shot to test if any of this was real, because the fact that he was alive had him... well, _questioning_.  
     "Good boy. Ye're already learnin' yer manners. Now, ye're prob'ly wonderin' why I've got yeh 'ere, and why I want more t'an anythin' ta _carve yer fockin' eyes out'a t'eir sockets_ …" A chair appeared behind Anti, and he dropped into it, looking tired. Like he was searching for pity.   
     Mark would've felt sorry if the fucking bitch hadn't _just_ told him he wanted to _carve his eyes out of their fucking sockets._ "Yes, Anti. I am wondering." Despite how cool and collected his voice was, he was fucking _dying_ inside, heart pounding and his stomach knotting in a million different ways. What did he do to fucking _deserve_ this? He was genuinely trying to think about what he could've done, but he was coming up blank _every damn time._   
     "Such a good boy fer me," Anti murmured, voice soft and punctured by a tiny sigh at the end. There was a shocking lack of glitches, and if Mark didn't think about it and closed his eyes, the entire sentence could've been something said by Jack.  
     _Jack_. He missed him.  
     Anti cleared his throat, the broken and chopped vibe restoring itself without hesitation. Almost like a glitch in the matrix. But not, since, wasn't Anti something _kin_ to a glitch in the matrix? Maybe "a break in the fourth wall" was a better way to describe it.   
     He was standing again, unruly hair fluttering in a sort of… _magical_ way as he moved. His signs of weakness and exhaustion were gone, eyes darkening and his pointed tongue poking out from his sharp teeth. Once again, he wielded a knife, gravitating around Mark with a ghostly snicker.   
     "Ye've known all t'is time, 'aven't yeh? Ye've been _so good_ at hidin' it. Bu' ye always _knew_ , didn' yeh?" A couple heartbeats of silence passed. "Don' be shy. I can tell w'en ye're lyin', Merk. 'M lettin' Jackaboy listen ta yeh… 'e _wants yeh_ , Merk. 'E doesn' want me ta take over. Well, _fock 'im_. 'E wants yeh safe. It's all 'e _ever_ wanted."  
     Mark opened his mouth, but he didn't know what to say. After at least a minute of confused noises, he stuttered, "J-Jack?" _God_ , his voice was _destroyed_ , but he didn't care.   
     "Merk, don' leave 'im hangin'… tell 'im teh truth. Tell _us_ teh truth." Anti had a sick grin on his face, his mixed gaze admiring his knife as he turned it over in his hands.  
     "I- I don't... I don't know what you're talking about. I haven't... I don't know _anything_ , okay? What kind of sick game _is_ this? You can't ask me questions I don't know the answers to." His eyes were wide and helpless, desperately searching for _any_ sign of Anti faltering and Jack pulling through.  
     The traipsing halted abruptly.  
     It was a hell of a lot darker than it'd been a second ago, and it was _so fucking cold_. It was _freezing_ , as in an _unbearable_ temperature. Mark was shivering, his fingers and toes entirely numb.   
     And then it was _much_ too bright, and a ringing possessed his ears, getting louder and louder until he thought that he must be going _insane_ , or that he was going to lose his hearing. _Something like that,_ because he couldn't fucking _think_.   
     Anti's voice echoed; in the room, in his ears, in his _mind_. It was _everywhere_ , an ear-splitting caterwaul of anger and _frustration_ , and Mark squeezed his eyes shut, trying to escape the noise. It was _so fucking_ _overwhelming_. It was... so _loud_. He couldn't hear himself think, he couldn't even hear his _heartbeat_ , even though he knew it _had_ to be racing.  
     The chill sunk over him again, the screaming continuing as the light died down again. Tension filled the air, an electric sort of buzz chiming and drowning out the yelling, and then _Mark_ was the one screeching, begging for it to stop. It was driving him _insane_.  
     Up until his throat clogged again, like the first time he'd met Anti. He made a choked noise, throat constricting in a _very_ abhorrent manner. He just wanted to fucking _breathe_. Eyes opening again, he tried to focus and pull through the tears that blurred his vision.   
     It sounded like there were eight of the malfunction whom he _obviously loved_ in the room. Incoherent whispering and growling and insane chortling washed over him, and Anti's certitudinous scream rang out again, filled with anger and disgust.   
     "Liar, liar, _liar_!" He wailed, storming up to Mark. Anti grabbed his own hair, holding the knife to his throat as he spoke. As soon as he was in front of Mark, the blade was turned onto his victim. Still yelling, his voice disjointed and delirious with glitches and useless, confusing echoes, he went on. "Disgusting! 'Ow can yeh _sit t'ere an' lie?_ You are _filthy_! _Scum_! Fockin' _pile a'dog shite!_ "   
     The insults rattled his bones, settling into his blood like poison. He was _defenseless_ , entirely defeated as he watched the demon's body glitch completely into undesirable poses.  
     Mark just clenched his fists, toes curled as he was verbally harassed, Anti wildly swishing his knife through the air without a care in the world.  
     And then it was over. Anti took a shuddering breath, smiling again and tipping his head. With a little giggle, he went on. "We'll address t'is _later_ ," He commented, voice still almost impossible to distinguish. "Fer now, I t'ink yeh deserve a _punishmen_ '. I _don_ ' like liars, Merk, I don' _like t'em._ W'at d'yeh t'ink I should do ta ye?"  
     The American had no clue what to say, so he just stayed silent, a thickness still settled in his throat that made him feel like he couldn't speak.  
     Anti's face twisted into a mangled snarl, and he shoved the chair over. He laughed far too hard as Mark fell backward, head smacking onto the floor.  
     Mark let out a soft groan, a splitting pain stabbing through his head. He felt _super_ fucking dizzy, and also like he might throw up. His vision was spotted with black patches. He clenched his eyes shut, trying to disregard the painful throbbing of his head. _You can think your way out of anything, even pain._   
     " _Don_ ' answer me t'en. See if I need yeh. Fockin' _useless_! _Wort'less_! Jack doesn' want me ta hurt yeh bu' _t'is_ s'why _I_ control _him_! _I know what's bes'_! 'M in charge 'cause I _know w'at 'm doin'!"_   
     His body was glitching out even more than usual as he leaned over Mark, pointing the knife definitively at him. He wasn't quite _opaque_ , his aura faltering bit by bit as he spoke. "'E can't save yeh, Merk. I _will_ hurt you. I will make sure ye _pay_ fer _everythin' ye've done._ He is _weak_!" His voice was fading and softening, gaining too much strength and then suddenly depleting. It made him sound as if he was stuttering, his words stalling backward and repeating.  
     "'E s'weak, Merk, an' I won' let 'im keep me from _takin' w'at s'mine._ Watch yer back, _pet_." He stepped away from Mark, delivering a final angry blow to his side.  
     Everything was quiet. _Disgustingly_ quiet. All Mark could hear was the sound of his racing heart, and he was staring up at a ceiling of black. Everything was _wrong_. He would've looked, to see where Anti went, to see if Jack was going to return now.  
     It was so dark, and so silent. His ears chimed their bells, reminding him of his apprehension and the fear that gnawed at his gut. Before he knew it, he was crying, tears reaching back to wet his ears. He couldn't bring himself to give a shit.   
     Hesitantly, his gaze turned to the side Anti had stepped to. Blinking his eyes free of the tears, he gave himself a second.   
     Of _course_ Anti wasn't gone. Had he _expected_ him to be? He really wasn't sure what he'd thought was going to happen. Yeah, the man had seemed pretty hell-bent on staying in control, but that confident and powerful facade had… _broken_. _That_ was the strangest thing. He'd given up his belief that he'd had the reigns.  
     And yet... the alter ego was _still_ here, lying unconscious on the ground in the _most uncomfortable position_ Mark had ever seen. He looked almost _peaceful_ , his face _far_ too gentle for everything he'd threatened to do. Actually, Mark would've thought it was Jack if not for the _severe_ glitching of the body and the deep gash along his throat.  
     Somehow, Mark knew that Jack must be fighting. FIghting for… jurisdiction. _Power_. His urgent, violent attempts were evidently enough to hold Anti back. Yes, Mark was _extremely_ grateful for even this, but he couldn't _help_ but wonder just how long it would last. He couldn't bring himself to _imagine_ how hard it'd be to have to fight for the starring role in your _own body_.  
     With all of this, though, Mark felt a sense of pride. A sense of _hope_. This feeling that maybe, just _maybe_ , his favorite Irishman could tuck Anti away. He was so proud that Jack had already done _so much_ , because honestly, he wasn't sure if _he himself_ could've done the same thing. He was actually a _very_ submissive person in general, and God knows he didn't have it in him to hurt a _fly_.  
     Unless he absolutely _had_ to, to defend himself or a friend.   
     And then he got to thinking: why was everything so _different_ with Anti? He could remember times he'd punched others in favor of his friends. There was _no doubt_ that Anti was hurting Jack, and now he was hurting Mark himself. But he couldn't bring himself to hurt him. Even _if_ he had it in him, something about Anti made him feel _so fucking weak_. Like a hunted rabbit.   
     Like meek _prey_. That's _all_ Mark was to Anti. A _toy_. It was so hard to admit it to himself, but it was the truth. FIghting back or showing any sort of resistance at all had proved to be a terrible idea. Anti might be a dickwad, but he _did_ have emotions, and he had shown himself to be very... _sensitive_. Quick to anger. The worst kind of kidnapper, obviously.  
     And worst of all, Anti acted like he had a… _purpose_ for all of this. A method to his madness, if you will, and that was fucking _horrifying_. The way he'd exploded when Mark had "lied." It was _terrifying_.  
     Speaking of that incident... Mark was still _entirely_ in the dark. He had _no idea_ what he'd done. He didn't know what he'd lied about, and why Anti was so _certain_ he was lying about whatever it was. He was just so fucking _confused_ , and he was known to be oblivious, yeah. It was a bad trait of his, and he was working on it. He'd had a lot of improvement with it, or so he _thought_. Mark just… _refused_ to believe that it was anything other than Anti's _infuriatingly vague_ words at fault here.  
     _Fucking hell_.


	5. organs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anti takes Mark on a field trip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS. ONE. IS. FUCKING. FUCKED. UP.
> 
> LOTS OF GORE AND BLOOD AND VIOLENCE AND ALSO CANNIBALISM
> 
> Okay don't say I didn't warn you

     Mark instantly regretted going to sleep, because he woke up with four times the amount of dread he'd had before. Just this constant _pressure_ in his gut, like a hand pressing against his stomach. It was all he could think of, along with the jumbled thoughts that polluted his mind.  
    A quick search of the room reconfirmed his suspicions that Anti wasn't here, despite already being certain from the unfamiliar normality of the air. He couldn't help but wonder where he'd gone, and why he'd left Mark alone. It was so _strange_.  
     He'd grown _accustomed_ to Anti, he'd realized. He almost _preferred_ his presence to complete loneliness, which was fucking _insane_ , because he was definitely planning on torture in the near future.  
     Count your blessings, or whatever.  
     Of course, this was the moment Anti reappeared. Mark could tell because the space in front of him was warping and distorting, a muffled screaming sound accompanying it, like he was underwater. Anti just materialized, a grin on his face and a ring of keys dangling from his finger.  
     " _Top o'the mornin' t'ya._ " Anti purred, jingling the keys and twisting them around his finger.  
     The phrase was so wrong from _that_ mouth, said _that_ way. The words curled around themselves, too quiet and gentle, almost _taunting_. Every vowel and consonant was prolonged and clipped in just the right ways, if the goal was to give him the chills. Anti's voice still resonated: through the room, through his mind, through his _body_. He felt it pulse through his arms and legs, and it echoed throughout his hollow chest.  
     _Hollow_. Anti made him feel hollow, _empty_ , as if every single one of his organs had been shifted to his external body, on display for the world to see. And yet, he could still _feel_. Mark could feel his heart pounding in his chest, but it was all wrong. His heart pounded everywhere, through every _thing_ , and bounced off of his bones and it was _unending_. It was _overwhelming_. It was wrong, _deliciously wrong_ , and he relished the emptiness blindly. He enjoyed the change. He _loved_ it.  
     What the fuck was _happening_ to him? His brain was cloaked in a haze, and his eyes were perceiving everything incorrectly. _Nothing_ was the same. He didn't feel like the same person. He didn't feel like _Mark Fischbach_. He _wasn't_ Mark Fischbach, not after _this_. He was a shell of a human.  
     But he wasn't.  
     "Hello, Anti." It was almost a sigh.  
     "We're goin' on a _fiel' trip_ , Merkimoo. Aren't ye _excited_?" Anti giggled, strolling easily up to him, and Mark listened as the fourteen different versions of Anti's laugh possessed his mind. He shuddered, biting his tongue as Anti sawed at the rope around one of his wrists.  
     "Yes. Where are we going?" Mark didn't know how he was keeping his voice steady when every part of him was _quivering_ in terror, apprehension welling inside of him as his heartbeat quickened.  
     Anti offered a muted chuckled, one last sound of his knife against the rope filling Mark's ears before it snapped, dropping to the floor silently. The tip of the blade was pressed gently into Mark's wrist, and he trembled again before it was pulled away. Mark could feel how raw his wrist was, and his arm felt like it was being pricked by needles.  
     The glitch made quick work of the other restraints, and once he was done, Mark didn't even stand. He was too afraid to, and Anti seemed pissed with that. He was shocked that the… dickhead?… hadn't attacked him or something.  
     Actually, there was no exchange of words. Only the fury and annoyance burning in Anti's dark eyes as he grabbed one of his sore wrists. Mark winced, flinching a little. He knew what was happening, but that didn't mean he was prepared for the sudden tidal wave of suffocating, muted air and white noise pressed into him, and the blinding light that infected his vision. He could never prepare himself for that. This time, he had the sense to let it happen.  
     The transition was smooth. Smoother than Mark had _expected_ , anyway. He let his body adjust to the new place, and the first thing he saw afterward was the table in front of him. He blinked, wondering if he was seeing things. The prickling feeling left his skin, and he sighed, observing the table with newfound focus.  
     It resembled an examiner's table, like one you'd see at the doctor's or a hospital, only it was made entirely of stainless steel. His brain was still a little foggy as he narrowed his eyes at the white, opaque sheet draped over an object on the table. It had taken the shape of whatever it was concealing, and Mark thought this was sort of reminiscent to when his parents would cover Christmas gifts in sheets.  
     He blinked one last time, holding out an uncertain and shaky arm to touch the form before realizing, right when his hand was only _half a centimeter_ from touching the sheet.  
     There was a fucking _human_ under there.  
     His mind able to focus now, his lips stretched into an "O," and his hand pulled away, smacking over his mouth. He took a few frantic steps backward before whipping around, not wanting to look at the sheet anymore.  
     Mark's gaze was met with a neat wall of shiny steel- _oh_.  
     _They were in a fucking morgue_.  
     A scream bubbled from his chest, rising in his throat. Just as it started to escape from his lips, a hand smacked over his mouth, replacing his own. A blade pressed into his throat, and that impending doom crushed his lungs again.  
     Anti's voice was twice as distorted as usual, and a strained, high pitched giggle paired with it, as well as muted whispering Mark couldn't make out. "If yeh scream, ye _die_."  
     If he hadn't been focusing really hard on the words, Mark wouldn't have heard what he'd said. His mangled voice was right in his ear, almost hoarse, but so _smooth_. It didn't make sense. All of it was contradictory.  
     The exertion at his throat loosened, and Anti went on, his voice calm, despite the little twinge of _insanity_ nestled into it. "Ye are goin' teh watch me _rip..._   _ev'ry part_ ," His voice was slow, just a jumbled as usual, tickling his ear. "A'this body inta _shreds_ , an' ye are goin' teh _watch me_ take th' organs. An' t'en, we're goin' ta use t'em. _D'yeh understan_ '?"  
     Fearfully, Mark bobbed his head up and down. This wasn't happening. It wasn't _real_. He was having a nightmare. _This wasn't real_.  
     "Don' run." Anti growled, pressing his body against Mark for a heartbeat before twisting around him, his flickering eyes locking onto Mark's. " _I_ am in control. Yer teasin' is _t'rough_. I's _our_ turn now, an' 'm goin' ta put yeh t'rough ' _ell_. An' you're goin' _t'enjoy it._ "  
     Mark just nodded again, shutting his eyes as tight as he could. Another icy giggle.  
     "None a't'at, now, _Merk_. T'at s'not allowed. Ye ' _ave_ ta watch _me_."  
     And his eyes opened again, slowly and hesitantly. Anti smiled at him, and turned him around. Through everything, he'd forgotten about the leash and collar until Anti grabbed it, tethering him to the table with the leash. He yanked more rope from his pockets, pulling Mark's wrists in front of them and demanding he hold them together.  
     The American obliged, and he was tied again.  
     This whole time, Anti wore a pleased smile, his pointed tongue occasionally licking his lips. He was clearly giddy with excitement, barely able to keep his hands still as he pulled the sheet back, letting it land at the waist of- oh _God,_ it was an _actual_ dead body.  
     _An actual dead body_. Mark was staring at a _dead body_ and he was about to watch it get _torn apart_. He tried to jerk away, and choked himself by doing so. He felt nauseous.  
     Anti was still grinning as he circled to the opposite side, picking up one of the cold, limp, lifeless hands from the table. He hummed, splaying the fingers and observing them, twisting them around to look at different angles as if he were trying to figure out how to take a bite of a burger. And then he held up the knife in his right hand, left hand obtaining a hold on the index and middle fingers.  
     His tongue poked out in psychotic concentration, and he swished the knife gently at the fingers, like a batter taking his practice swings. And then he held the knife out one last time, slicing it forward.  
     Mark listened to the sound of the metal chopping the fingers _clean off_ , and he would've closed his eyes. He _wanted_ to close his eyes. He couldn't see this. But his eyes were _glued_. He couldn't divert his attention.  
     He watched the rest of the limp arm flail back down, draping over the side of the table and spilling blood onto the floor. This was _sickening_. Anti was so pleased by this. He was laughing and smiling, licking his lips as he observed the severed fingers with delight.  
     Anti reminded Mark to watch closely before casually trotting up to examine the head. He was deep in thought, and next thing Mark knew, he was wielding a machete instead of butcher knife, and he started hacking at the neck.  
     There was blood _everywhere_. It spurted from the cuts, and Anti was covered in it, but that only seemed to fuel him more. He was laughing and grinning the entire time, his eyes wide with a psychotic excitement.  
     The sound was terrible. This horrible _gurgling_ sound, mixed with the slice of flesh and the cracking of bone and something like a _squelch_. It was too easy. The blade sank through the skin _too easily_ and chipped through bone without hesitation. It was disgusting, but Mark couldn't look _away_ , his eyes wide with horror as he sobbed quietly, tears blurring his vision.  
     It didn't take long for Anti to chop through the neck, and Mark winced at the sound of the machete making forceful contact with the steel table top. Anti just cackled, grabbing the head by the hair and enthusiastically watching the blood drip from it. He grinned at how it pooled by his shoes, the pure _joy_ obvious in his eyes.  
     He had a butcher knife again, and he sat the head back onto the table, stabbing it angrily and mercilessly. It was so clear that _this_ was the monster's idea of _fun_.  
     Mark hadn't been able to stop the vomit. It just sort of _came out_ , leaving an unpleasant burn and a foul taste in his mouth. His bound hands flew to his mouth so that he could vomit into them instead of all over himself. Even as he emptied his stomach, he watched. He was so afraid he'd die if he didn't.  
     The face of Anti's victim was no longer recognizable, a mangled and disgusting jumble of blood and skin and bone and Mark was _pretty_ sure he saw some scattered remains of a punctured eyeball thrown across the mess. He found himself vomiting again, despite only discarding stomach bile at this point.  
     He wiped his nose and mouth with the back of his hand and let out another broken sob. By the time he was back to his senses and was aware of what was going on, Anti had moved on to carefully scrapping flesh from the arm, carving it ever so gently into little strips.  
     Anti was absolutely _coated_ in blood, his hair clotted and matted with it and his face and hands covered. It splattered and soaked his shirt and some of his pants, and stained his arms. His eyes were wide and bright, and _God_ , his face must be aching at this point from laughing and smiling.  
     Mark thought he might get sick again, but miraculously held it down. He focused on the bloody scene before him, and he let out another quiet cry. A death glare from Anti made him bite his tongue. The taste in his mouth was so _fucking disgusting_.  
     He watched Anti circle the table again and stop at around around the top of the ribcage. His blood-stained knife sank into the flesh just below there, squirting blood and making an unsettling noise as he dragged it downward, slicing open the stomach entirely.  
     Blood splattered across Mark's face and shirt, and he let out another weak cry of protest. His throat hurt. He wanted to _beg_ Anti to stop, he wanted to _give up_. He couldn't look at this. He _couldn't do it_. He'd rather be dead. Yet… his voice wouldn't work. He tried _so hard_ , but all he could muster was a hoarse croak that was closer to another wail than anything else. He was defeated. Completely, utterly _defeated_. He was _broken_.  
     This was sick. It was psychotic and _disgusting_ , and it hurt to watch. It hurt to see it. He couldn't do this. He was dizzy and exhausted and he couldn't think for _shit_. He wanted to disappear forever, because he was _never_ going to forget this. The mangled image of that lifeless face was forever _engraved_ into his brain.  
     Anti widened the incision in the stomach with his bare hands, pulling apart the flesh and sticking them down into the torso. The noise was less than desirable; it was so squishy and _wet_ and _fucking disgusting_. That's all Mark had.  
     "A-Anti, stop" Mark sobbed, blinking more tears from his eyes. "Stop, _please_ , I- I can't look, I can't _watch_ a-anymore, _please_!"  
     " _Oh_ , Merk," Anti cooed, his fingers pulling from the body, still holding a string of intestines. "If I let yeh look away, I'll ' _ave_ ta _punish yeh_."  
     "I- I don't _care_ , _I don't care what you do to me_ ," he cried, still too afraid to look away from the body despite how sick it made him.  
     "Ta _you_? Oh, _no_ , Merk. If ye don' keep yer _eyes on me_ or ye _disobey_ I'll 'ave ta hurt _Jack_. Don'  _test me_. I's _t'is_ or I hurt yer _boy toy_. It wasn' goin' t'be like t'is, bu' ye're so determined teh be the _hero_. I _won_ ' let yeh. Unless yeh want ta _hurt Jackaboy_?"  
     He was noticeably angry, frantically glitching back and forth. His voice was laggy and slow, and far too deep.  
     Mark's eyes widened and he took a shuddering breath. His lip was trembling and he couldn't stop the tears from spilling down his face, even as he held in his sobs. He watched Anti giggle and snap off a chunk of the intestine, fiddling with it for a second. Finally, he dropped it and sawed off a piece of flesh, circling calmly around to Mark, who stared at him in terror.  
     " _Eat it._ " Anti snarled, holding it out to Mark.  
     " _What_? I- o-oh my _god_. No, _no_. I _can't_. No. _Please don't_ … I… _oh my god_. _Oh my god_."  
     The knife pointed toward Anti's throat, and he held it there, dragging it across his neck ever so slightly. His own blood mingled with the blood of his victim, and he grinned, inching the knife further. "If I die, so does yer _toy_." He spat, mouth not moving in sync with his words.  
     "No!" Mark screamed, scrambling to reach for it. It was… it closely resembled beef, but it was stringy and extremely bloody. _Grotesque_. He was… he was about to eat _human flesh_.  
     Slowly, he lifted it to his mouth awkwardly because of the restraints. He took a deep breath, another tear sliding down his cheek. Inwardly, he counted down.  
     And then he dropped it.  
     He got to chewing, because he knew Anti wouldn't let him stop until he swallowed it. The texture was almost like beef, just as the appearance had been, only… _slippery_. When he bit into it, he instantly thought of pork, but another hesitant bite told him it was more bitter; it had this _tang_ to it, and it was so much more _intense_ than any other meat he'd ever tasted. It was… it was almost _good_ , aside from the iron-y taste of the blood that overwhelmed his taste buds. Oh _God_ , did he _like_ human flesh? What the fuck. _What the fuck._  
     He forced himself to swallow, coughing a little when it got lodged in his throat. It didn't settle well in his stomach; he was still a bit nauseous and sick, and he'd just emptied everything out of himself. Oh, also the fact that it was human flesh was a _little bit disturbing._  
     "Ye enjoyed it." Anti had a playful glint in his eyes, and he was grinning in pride. For a second, Mark swore his expression faltered into one of utter _fear_ , the mixed gaze shifting to a gentle blue. It was just a couple of slow moments, the body that seemed almost stuck between Jack and Anti rigid and stiff with terror.  
     Mark didn't know if Jack was afraid of him or of Anti. He noted the semi-deep beginnings of a cut on the throat of this middle ground creature. Jack must be hurting.  
     As soon as it was there, it was gone, Anti pulling back into center stage as he rummaged the organs easily, pulling out what appeared to be a liver.  
     Mark's breath caught in his throat as Anti's gaze darkened and he let out another sinister giggle. "Yeh didn' t'ink it'd be _t'at_ easy, did yeh?"


	6. yours. yours. yours.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark endures and prepares for more torture after a weird dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 4.5k. SO MANY WORDS.
> 
> I love this chapter. Idk why. Im just proud. You guys get a mini break from fucky shit for this angst. Long, long angst. Did I mention I love it? Yeah
> 
> Also, Ryo (PoemIsDead) and I made a Discord server for AO3 peeps to chill and talk on! ♡ Here's the invite link: https://discord.gg/59ZaQs
> 
> Join us in some shitty shenanigans and getting to know coolcool people!!

     _"Merk."_  
     Mark's breath hitched, his entire body aching. He was sweating and his stomach was cramping. The sentence, spoken through an Irish accent, was too short and too distant for Mark to tell if it had that choppiness to it. It was soft, and desperate. Urgent. _Frantic_.  
     The air was clear.  
     "Anti...?" He tested, his voice a mere whisper, destroyed and weak.  
     _"No, Merk!"_  
     The voice echoed, and he noticed that his eyes were closed. He shut them tighter, quivering and afraid. "...A-Anti..?" He said it under his breath this time, his voice breaking.  
     " _Merk_. Open yer _eyes_!"  
     He did this, solely out of fear, and he was met with Jack. _Jack_. _Jack_ , with his tidy green hair and his tangible stature and his soft face and his gentle, blue eyes. He was frantic and fidgety, almost far away. His usually clean, _slightly_ disheveled appearance was tumbled into what Mark could only describe as a state of _panic_. He looked regretful, afraid, and _guilty_.  
     It was bright, and white. A _hard_ contrast from where Anti had him before. Where Anti... he thought he might _hurl_ again. "Jack? Is... _how_...?"  
     "Don' ask. 'E won' let me see yeh in person... _oh my God_. J-Jaysus, i's... even _worse_ face ta face... yer a _mess_..."  
     Voice as broken and dry as ever, he answered hoarsely and far more sarcastically than need be, "Tends to happen when your best friend's demon _traumatizes you and forces you to eat human flesh._ "  
     Jack looked hurt for a split second before guilt clouded his baby blues. "I's... I t'ought... I t'ought I could _control 'im_ , Merk. I didn' t'ink 'e would _hurt yeh_. 'M tryin' so 'ard. It hurts ta watch 'im do t'is. I can't stop 'im... I's all me faul'..."  
     At that moment, Mark could've believed Jack was the one who had been tortured. Hell, maybe he _had_ been. Mark didn't know what went on in his head, and he might _never_ know. "Jack. Don't say that. You didn't ask for this. I... _neither_ of us did. _Neither of us did,_ okay? I... I don't blame you. I'm..." His face fell, and he wrapped his arms around Jack, who took a moment to weakly return the hug. Still holding him as though he was all that was left in the world, Mark went on. " _I'm so fucking happy to see you._ "  
     Jack's breathing was unusually shaky. "N- I... _Merk_ , 'm... n-  _no_. Nevermind. Ye... pro'lly want t'know what's goin' on, an' I don' 'ave much time..."  
     Mark let go, eyes wide and watery. "You're not... you're not _staying_ …?" The sentence was stuck between a question and declaration. Anti would come back. This wasn’t over. When would it be _over_? _How_ did this _end_? A sharp pain pierced his abdomen, and he nearly doubled over, letting out a tiny gasp.  
     "I... 'm not... 'm not _strong enough_ ta beat ‘im... M-Merk. _Please_ don' cry, 'm tryin' ta get ye ou'a 'ere... 'e wants ta 'urt yeh _so badly_ …"  
     Sure enough, Mark was crying, stomach flipping. "Why...? Jack, _why_? _Why_ does he want to hurt me? What did I _do_? I'm _so fucking sorry_. Where are we? What is-"  
     "Merk, I _know_ yer scared. Bu' I don' 'ave much time. 'E wants ta... 'e wants ta hurt yeh 'cause... _f-fock_ … 'E wants ta 'urt yeh 'cause a'the teasin'... I've... _wanted_ yeh fer so long, Merk. 'E t'inks our flirtin' 'as been torturin' me, 'e thinks he's _protectin_ ' me, an’ if I’m gone, ‘e is, too. 'E... he's _delusional_ , Merk, 'e doesn' listen t'me or _anyone_. I used ta be in control, I- I _promise_! Yeh 'aven't done anythin' _wrong_... ' _ow the fock did I get 'ere_ …" He whispered the last sentence, falling into Mark and grabbing the fabric of his shirt with all of his strength.  
     Mark didn't know how to respond as Jack let out a broken cry, muttering jumbled sentences under his breath and between gasps of air. He had _so much_ to say, but he didn’t know _how_ to say it. How was he supposed to do this? How was he supposed to _deal_? What was he supposed to _do_? Tears slid down his own face as he leaned into Jack. “H-hey, don’t… you’re… I… I don’t…” He stopped, closing his eyes and taking a little breath. “This _isn’t_ your fault.” He mumbled definitively. “It’s not your fault, it’s not my fault. It’s _his_. _He’s_ the reason we’re both here. We didn’t _want_ this. If we just… Can… Can I defeat-"  
     "N-no! Merk, 'e… _he'll kill yeh_ , _don' ye_ _get it?_ " Jack was yelling, jerking himself away from Mark and staring at him with a pained expression. "Everythin' is ' _opeless_. Yeh… yer good as _dead_ , an' i's _my faul'_."  
     Mark let him scream, despite how scared of him he was. And how scared he was for his own future. He'd just eaten _raw human meat_ , and Jack had pretty much _reassured him_ that he was going to die. Once he was finished with his outburst, Jack stepped back staring over Mark's shoulder distantly.  
     "I didn' mean t'yell... 'm sorry..." He whispered shakily.  
     "Jack."  
     The Irishman didn't answer, but his eyes gravitated to meet Mark's, once again swimming with pure guilt.  
     "I don't _care_ if I die, as long as _you_ get out of this alive."  
     Much to Mark's surprise, Jack laughed bitterly, flashing him a pitiful smile. "Ye don' _understan_ ', Merk. Wit'out yeh, am I _really_ livin'?"  
     " _Yes_!" Mark answered fiercely, gripping his shoulders and holding his gaze. "Jack, you're _probably_ going to outlive me, whether you like it or not. You got along just fine without me for _years_!"  
     " _No_ , Merk," he whispered, looking him dead in the eye with an empty expression. "I _existed_. _Existin_ ' isn' _livin_ '."  
     Chills crept up Mark's spine, and he shuddered, parting his lips to speak. But then his fists were closing around empty air, and his eyes were filled with nothing. No baby blue eyes to get lost in, no messy green hair to admire, no dainty structure to take in. There was _nothing_. It was all a _dream_ , and all dreams came to an end.

* * *

 

     "Oooooh, Merky. Yer awake!"  
     Static. _Static_ , and _darkness_ , and all choppy. Choppy, like, when you're on the phone, and you're losing service. He drew out _every word_. Too long. Too… _Anti_. _Too Anti_. Mark wanted Jack back. He wanted _Jack_. _Just give me Jack, just give me Jack, just give me Jack._  
     Thinking it vigorously did _not_ give him what he wanted.  
     The first thing Mark noted was that they weren't in the morgue anymore, and following this thought, he realized he was strapped down to… a _table_? Something of the sorts. The third thing he noticed was the absence of his shirt. He pulled at the restraints at his- _wait_.  
     _Where the fuck was his shirt?_  
     His chest tightened as Anti leaned over him, a grin splitting his face and a knife loosely clenched in one of his hands. Mark found his eyes studying him, wide and full of terror. He could tell that his glitching was a bit out of control at the moment. Anti didn't have a definitive _outline_ at any point in time, constantly switching from pose to pose. Mark watched it like a movie, because it some ways, it _was_ ; just watching a transparent version of Anti grabbing his hair and cracking his neck, or holding an imaginary version of his knife and slitting his throat, or when he'd just sort of _jerk_ and _tremble_ and _snap_ into inhumane positions.  
     That giggle filled his body, and he shivered, closing his eyes. He felt something sharp and cold lift his chin.  
     " _Oh, Merk_ ," Anti sang, and suddenly, he was sitting on Mark's thighs, head tilted tauntingly. "We're done wit' organs fer _now_. T'is time… I get ta 'ave _fun_ , an' _lis'en teh yer screams_. 'Cept… _hahaha_! 'M 'avin' an _idea_ , Merky. 'Ow abou'… ye _can't_ scream?"  
     Mark's eyes flew open. He remembered Jack, remembered him saying he made Anti _promise_ not to hurt anyone. Not to hurt _Mark_.  
     "Yes," Anti said, agreeing with himself with a nod. "I like t'at. D'yeh wan'teh know, t'en? What 'm doin'?"  
     Hardly able to move his head out of fear, Mark stiffly nodded, feeling Anti's body glitch back onto the floor. Better there.  
     His mind traveled back to Jack, his voice shaky and his hands pulling at his own hair as he paced back and forth on that fateful day backstage. He didn't know what day it was. How long ago _was_ that? He tried to recount his thoughts, but he couldn't. Mark remembered standing awkwardly beside the door, listening to Jack's footsteps, and then his rambling.  
     _"…H-he won’t hurt yeh, he won’t, I- I promise…"_  
     Mark could hear it so clearly. _Jack_. He could hear him so clearly. _Jack_ , not Anti. Jack's loud, _ecstatic_ voice and his Irish lilt, and his cute little laugh. Not Anti's giggle, but Jack's soft chuckle, and his grin. Not Anti's grin, the psychotic smile of his, but Jack's welcoming, approachable, good-natured beam. And those endless blue eyes. Never green. Never black. Always…  
     _Perfect_.  
     He _didn't like Jack that way._  
     His mind frantically focused on that evening, after the panel, when Anti had appeared. When he and Jack had _both_ been astounded by Anti cropping up, and they'd went to talk about it.  
     _"…It wasn’ until recen’ly t’at he promised not ta hurt yeh, so I let me guard down..."_  
     His heart ached.  
     "Not feelin' talk'tive?"  
     The clipped and pitchy voice yanked him from his thoughts, all faux-sweetness and charming words and a "concerned" look in those mixed eyes. "I'd like to know what's going on." He finally answered, voice quivering almost as much as he was.  
     "Incessan' _demandin_ ', Merk, t'at's _all_ ye 'ave fer me. T'at's okay. We'll deal wit' t'at. I can teach yeh. Bu'… y'know w'at I wanna do? …If ye even _t'ink_ abou' interupttin' me teh answer," He broke off, and his voice suddenly got even more jumpy and echoy. " _I will kill yeh._ "  
     Mark clenched his jaw.  
     "I jus' got ta thinkin'," Anti continued, his voice a purr. I 'aven' even claimed yeh as _mine_ yet! 'Ow _rude_ a'me, yeah?"  
     He glitched to the other side of Mark and giggled, twisting his knife in his hand and observing Mark's chest and stomach. His tongue wet his lips and his jagged teeth caught it so that it was just poking out of the corner of his mouth. The only thing that would've topped it off was if the virus was _drooling_.  
     " _Gorgeous_." He whispered, sounding more like Jack than Anti. His eyes, _entirely_ black, flicked up to Mark, who was looking down uncomfortably at Anti's ogling. His voice deepened, and his head tilted, tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth for a moment. "D'yeh _know_ 'ow long Jack," when the name fell from his lips, his eyes settled blue, and his teeth were no longer pointed, and his neck was untouched. "'As wanted t'is? 'As wanted _you_?"  
     The blue fell to black again, the teeth conical and his throat slit. " _Forever_." He continued, laughing wildly and glitching on top of Mark, sitting on his lower stomach with his feet under Mark's raised arms. "Bu' now, yer _mine_. _All mine_ , an' 'm gonna make sure yeh _know_ it, e'ery time ye shower or look inta th'mirror." He stopped, using his free hand to hold the side of Mark's head.  
     His hand was cold, and Mark shivered at the words and the contact and just _everything_ about this. About _all_ of it. When he continued, his voice was _eerily_ soft and welcoming.  
     "Say yer mine, Merk. Say it like ye _mean it_ , baby."  
     Mark couldn't repress his shudder, because he sounded too much like _Jack_. He looked too much like Jack. He couldn't say it. He _couldn't_ say that. He wasn't going to say it.  
     "N-no."  
     "' _Scuse me_?"  
     Quieter, he breathed out, "…No."  
     Anti giggled faintly, his grin wavering ever so slightly. The tips of his ears rounded out, and his eyes were blue. His eyes were Jack's eyes, and his throat was Jack's throat. The smile on his face dropped to just the right size.  
     _Jack's smile_.  
     His voice didn't glitch as he asked, eyebrows lowered into a gentle expression of confusion and his head tilted questioningly: "Will yeh say it ta _me_ , Maerk? Can ye tell me t'at yer _mine_?"  
     Mark's entire world _shattered_. That was Jack. That was _Jack's_ voice, _Jack's_ smile, _Jack's_ hair. _Jack, Jack, Jack, Jack_. _Jack_ on top of him, _Jack_ smiling down at him, _Jack_ asking Mark to say that he was his. _Why_ was Mark's stomach churning? _Why_ was his mouth so dry? _Why_ was his heart pounding so hard?  
     He hadn't even meant to say the words. His mind has _betrayed him._  
     " _I'm yours, Jack._ "  
     Feebly. Almost _inaudible_ , but not at all shaky. He heard his own words in his ears and he couldn't _believe_ he'd said them. He _didn't_ think of Jack _that_ way, so why had he _said_ it? What was he _doing_?  
     The blue eyes were swallowed by jet black once more, and his teeth grew into points, a forked tongue tracing the line of his upper lip before making a gentle clicking sound. Another high pitched round of giggles resonated throughout the room  
     "Good." He whispered, voice dripping with hunger and amusement. "Good, _good boy_ , good. _Great_."  
     Anti's body disappeared and reappeared, his feet now on the ground and a hand on Mark's lower stomach, below his belly button.  
     Mark stifled a noise of discomfort, and Anti's thumb caressed his taut skin, a sickly smile on his face. The American whimpered a little when he brushed his hand further up, letting it rest on the left side of chest.  
     "'M goin' ta carve me name inta yer _beautiful_ ches'. 'Ow does t'at sound? 'M makin' sure ye _always_ remember me. When ye wake up an' look at yerself in mirror, an' yer eyes shift _down_ ," his nail dug into Mark's skin, and he jerked in a downward motion. "Ye'll see me. _Remember_ me. I'll be th'drivin' factor of yer day. I'll be… 'm goin'teh be the _only_ t'ing ye think abou'. Doesn' t'at sound _wonderful_ t'yeh? An'the funny part is… ye can't _yell_. Ye can't _cry_. Unless… ye wan'me teh 'urt Jack more t'an ye already 'ave. S'that what ye want? D'yeh want 'im ta _hurt fer you?_ "  
     Mark was shaking, his eyes wide and his hands clenched tightly on themselves. His toes curled in apprehension.  
     " _Answer me_ , ye _wort'less_ piece _a'shite_! Answer me or I'll _kill 'im_!" Anti laughed loudly; a disgusting sound, Mark thought. His knife was tipped toward his throat again. " _I'll kill 'im!_ Five secon's! Yeh've got _five_ seconds teh answer me!"  
     Mark screamed, his broken voice replying right as Anti screeched the number five. "That sounds... pe- perfect! It sounds _perfect_! I'm so… excited! _Excited_ …"  
     While he was speaking, Anti had dropped to four, and he called out with a little giggle, " _Three_!"  
     "I'm not trying to... hurt Jack. I don't want him t-to hurt…"  
     " _Beg me, Fischbach_. _Beg_ me t'keep 'im alive. _Beg me_ , ye _fockin' idiot!_ ... _Two_!"  
     Mark let out a sharp sob, weakly whispering, "A-Anti… _please_. Pl- _please_. Please. Keep him _alive_. Please. I- _Anti_ , _please_. I'll do _anything_. _I'll do anything_ … don't _hurt him…_ " Another tiny wail fell from his lips.  
     Anti's lips parted into a huge grin. " _Good boy._ Befer I carve me name inta yer chest..."  
     He glitched away and, after a couple heartbeats, was at Mark's side. Mark's head turned the best it could to look at him. Anti had his phone.  
     "Where'd you get that?" He struggled between cries.  
     "Off a'yeh, silly. I's been a few days since I took yeh. No one's 'eard from yeh, or from _Jack_ …" He pulled out another phone; Jack's. Continuing, he made eye contact with Mark. "Let's see what t'ey've been sayin', mm?"  
     "It's password protected," Mark muttered, feeling slightly superior because of this.  
     The phone made a sound Mark could only describe as _incorrect_. Anti laughed and turned the phone to him: on screen, his text conversations appeared. He saw at _least_ 8 unread conversations from different people.  
     "What the fuck," Mark whispered to himself as Anti pressed the lowest conversation. Even being the least recent unread text, it was only 2 hours ago. From Bob. Anti held the phone for him as he read.

_APR 5, 2018_

  
_Bob: Great panel this year. You guys were awesome up there. Front row seats were the bomb dot com dude_

_APR 6, 2018_

  
_Bob: Mark? We're worried about you buddy. You didn't come to Ethan's panel today. Neither did Jack. Call one of us when you get this._

_APR 7, 2018_

  
_Bob: This really isn't funny Mark... no one's heard from you at all and we're really fucking worried. Where are you? Is Jack with you? Stop ignoring us, please, we just wanna know if you're safe._

     Mark let out a muffled sob, his eyebrows furrowed. He watched Anti go to the next chat: Wade.

_APR 5, 2018_

  
_Wade: Great show this year! Was gonna hit you up irl but no one could find you, and Ethan told me you guys went out to dinner or something. Rude of you to not even find us first :(_  
_Wade: shit I was joking don't leave me on delivered you ass_

_APR 6, 2018_

  
_Wade: Everyone's saying you're nowhere to be seen, and you didn't show at the panel today? Where's Jack? I hope you guys are ok and if you are please text us_  
_Wade: Okay this is crazy, Mark. Idk if you two are on some honeymoon or something but it's been like, 7 hours since I texted you and no one's gotten either of you. Did we do something? Just.. text us or something_

_APR 7, 2018_

_Wade: We're literally tempted to get the police involved, Mark this better not be a prank bc it isn't funny and never was. Ethan said last they heard of you was when you left a note saying you and jack went back to your hotel room_  
_Wade: Just please don't ignore us anymore_

     "You're evil," Mark hissed, sniffling and breathing rapidly. "You're _evil_. Let me _go_. Let _Jack_ go. Let us go _home_. You're insane… you're... you're _insane_ … I can't do it, I can't _do it…_ "  
     Anti grinned even wider than before. "Oh, but _Merk_ … 'm only _jus_ ' gettin' started! Now, look at yeh. Ye can't see th'screen. Guess _I'll_ read t'ya." He pulled the phone toward himself and licked his lips as he selected the next chat. "T'is is the PAX plannin' chat. The one wit' everyone." He giggled and started paraphrasing the conversation, _perfectly_ nailing all of the impressions and voices.

_APR 5, 2018_

  
_Ethan: anyone seen Mark and Jack?_  
_Amy: No, thought they were with you guys_  
_Wade: Yeah_  
_Bob: I thought so too_  
_Tyler: No, they started acting weird and then they went to the bathroom and Mark came out holding Jack_  
_Ethan: he was passed out_  
_Tyler: Mark told us to pay and meet him in the car but when we got there there was just a note about them going to Mark's room and he signed it and everything_  
_Amy: how to tell if it was Mark: did he call his hotel his 'house'_  
_Ethan: mhm. I knew that was a thing he did_  
_Wade: They probably like, went to his room and fucked, cause Septiplier n shit_  
_Kathyrn: LOL IM DEAD_  
_Tyler: I guess. Just keep an eye out_  
_Bob: We will, right guys?_  
_Wade: Yeah yeah_  
_Kathyrn: As long as I don't have to go to Marks room and find them naked, yep_  
_Ethan: okay… thanks. Idk where else they could've gone unless they both passed out at Mark's room but I'm not gonna barge in_  
_Ethan: Anyway,, they'll be at my panel bc they told me they would. They never break promises and they know how important this is to me!! Is everyone gonna be there..?_  
_Bob: Yes, you fetus. We're all gonna be there_  
_Kathryn: They'll be there lmao, I wouldn't worry_  
_Ethan: yeah. Night guys!_  
_Wade: See y'all tm :)_

_APR 6, 2018_

  
_Ethan: they weren't there_  
_Bob: Maybe we just didn't see them…_  
_Ethan: no. No, I would've seen them, I would've seen them_  
_Wade: Worried at this point. They never responded to me text yesterday_  
_Wade: my_  
_Bob: Turned into Jack there for a sec haha_  
_Amy: Neither of them have read this chat and Mark hasn't read any of my texts. I'm worried too, this isn't like them_  
_Ethan: I know. I just want them to be safe. I miss them_  
_Tyler: I'm on my way to Mark's room. In the elevator rn_  
_Bob: I don't know where they could be. Did something happen with a fan? By "something" I mean, you know_  
_Amy: God no. Like Ethan and Tyler said, last anyone heard of them was yesterday evening. No social media posts, no texts, no calls. This ISN'T like them. At all_  
_Wade: I'm spending the day driving around town_  
_Kathyrn: Me too. Can't enjoy the con with them missing anyway. Much rather be doing this_  
_Ethan: Where'd Tyler go_  
_Ethan: I swear to god if he goes missing too_  
_Tyler: I'm right here. Their room was unlocked which is already weird_  
_Amy: Mark never leaves his doors unlocked_  
_Tyler: All his shit is here. Like his wallet. Jack's too. No phones?_  
_Kathyrn: Are they there_  
_Tyler: Negative_  
_Ethan: oh my fucking god_  
_Wade: Oh no_

"Stop!" Mark cried, snot running down his face and mingling with rapid tears. "Stop! Stop, stop, stop!" As he screamed, Anti kept paraphrasing.

_Ethan: Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god_  
_Tyler: Ethan calm down. I'm on my way to your room_  
_Ethan: oh my god_  
_Kathyrn: Don't freak out, we'll get this under control. Who's driving around town?_  
_Bob: Me_  
_Wade: Me_  
_Amy: Me_  
_Tyler: Staying with Ethan_  
_Amy: Good luck, everyone_

"T'ere seems t'be a three hour break in 'ere…" A smile played on Anti's lips, and his gaze met with Mark's for a second before he went on.

_Wade: Nothing. Absolutely fucking nothing_  
_Bob: Same here. If this is some sort of fucking joke…_  
_Amy: No. It's not._  
_Kathyrn: No? Then where are they? Nothing could've happened_  
_Ethan: youre in denial_  
_Kathyrn: what?_  
_Ethan: it's okay. Me too._  
_Bob: What the fuck do we do? They're nowhere. We've checked everywhere_  
_Tyler: We need to get the police involved. File missing persons reports_  
_Kathyrn: it's like, 10… We should probably do it in the morning_  
_Amy: Yeah. God, I'm scared_  
_Bob: I think we all are._  
_Tyler: Theyre ok_  
_Ethan: I can only hope so_

_APRIL 7TH, 2018_

  
_Tyler: Ethan and I are going to go file the reports, if anyone wants to meet up with us_  
_Amy: I will_  
_Kathyrn: Me too_  
_Bob: Wade and I can search again_  
_Wade: Yeah, we'll do that_  
_Ethan: good luck_

     Anti stopped. "That s'all. Bu'… new tex's are comin' t'rough..."  
     All the while, Mark sobbed in protest, even as Anti read the new texts one by one.

     _Ethan: wait. Oh my fucking god I'm not seeing things right_  
_Amy: ???_  
_Ethan: Mark's name, he's reading the fucking chat, oh my god, he's alive_  
_Kathyrn: What? Thats_  
_Kathyrn: I see it_  
_Bob: What the fuck. Call this group, it'll ring him_

     Without hesitation, a call was initiated. The ringing of the phone deafened him, and much to Mark's surprise, Anti answered it. He set the phone to speaker and placed it right next Mark. And he sat in the corner, playing with his knife like some insane child.  
     As soon as it'd been picked up, he was bombarded by questions and concerns and yelling. _So much yelling_. His head ached. His chest hurt. He was in so much _pain_.  
     "Mark! Oh… oh my _God_ , you picked up-"  
     "Please speak, so we can-"  
     "He's _sobbing_ , wh-"  
     "He is, oh my _fucki_ -  
     "What the _fuck_ is going on?"  
     "Mark, where _are_ you?"  
     "Is Jack there?"  
     Mark squeezed his eyes shut and took a shuddering breath. "Please stop. With the questions, I can't... _think_." He knew his voice was destroyed, and all the voices seemed to catch and stop bit by bit. A moment of silence fell while Mark steadied his breathing. What was he _supposed_ to say?  
     "I don't… kn-know wh-ere I am. I don't… _help_. H-Help. _Help me_. I'm going _insane_ , h-he's… driving me _insane_ -"  
     "He?" Mark couldn't make out who'd said it, but the voice was anxious and quiet.  
     " _Help_." Mark whispered again, not knowing what else he could really say. "I don't… I don't... I'm... oh my fucking God, oh my fucking _God_ , _oh my fucking God_!" And he started sobbing, making a fool of himself. _Good_ thing they couldn't _see_ him. He could just make out snippets of words and sentences. Shit like, "Mark," "he," "what's wrong," "explain," "You're okay," and "just breathe." He'd been so caught up in his hysterics and the bombard of panicked thoughts that he hadn't even _noticed_ Anti sitting on the table.  
     "Ooooh, _Merkimoo_ ," Anti sang, giggling and squishing his cheeks. "Look at yeh. Gushin' ta all yer friends. Ye want t'em t'save yeh. Bu' _what_ would 'appen t'poor ol' _Jackie_? T'ink _real 'ard_  'ere, _baby boy..._ "  
     And then the voices of his friends were shouting things at Anti.  
     "Who the _fuck_ are you?"  
     "Who do you think you _are_?"  
     "Let them go. Let them _go_."  
     " _Stop_! Don't blackmail him!"  
     "Where's Jack?"  
     "What are you _doing_ to them?"  
     Through blurred vision, he watched as Anti grew visibly angrier with each and every syllable. He braced himself for the explosion, and surely, it came.  
     He was glitching all over, yanking at his jaw and pulling his hair and waving his knife around, but most importantly, he was screaming. A _disgusting_ sound, and it hurt Mark's ears so badly. He found himself sobbing again, and at first, he thought that his inability to focus was why it sounded like Anti's sentences were dropping and clipping, but he quickly realized it wasn't.  
     " _Stop! Stop, stop, stop!_ Weak- 'e _isn'_ comin' back!- _never_ ," his voice dragged on the word 'never,' like glitching audio, even as his voice overlapped it. "Merk s'me _toy_ \- die. Get ready ta… _die, die, die_! Fockin' _years_! Waitin'- _my turn!_ Control! Me- _in control_! 'M in _control_ -" the final word was once again elongated, his head snapping and cracking back and forth. " _Weak! Weak! Weak!_ Stop! _Mine_ … _c-c-c-control_ , _me_! _My_ worl'. Me! _My_ puppe's. _All mine..._ "  
     Chills pitter-pattered up his spine, like tiny paws on the night drenched ground. And they only worsened when Anti's next words dropped from his mouth, his black eyes fixated on Mark and a sick grin on his face. Every word was lagged and stretched out.  
     " _Jus'... mine. All... mine._ "


	7. fucking circles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark is Anti's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT TOOK AGES BUT ITS FINALLY HERE <3 School was like "here's 5993938 different projects and essay due in the same week" and my family was like "btw you have all this adult stuff to do" and my knee was like "oh, I'm gonna hurt 5837 times more than usual" and my doctor was like "yeah about that you gotta get surgery" and my brain was like "you're really really depressed, yknow?"
> 
> I'm sorry for the long wait!~

     Mark’s memory was sort of foggy from that point on.  
     No, it wasn’t like there was an actual _spell_ on him or something, nothing like that. It was just… he couldn’t _focus_. He just couldn’t think. Everything felt too distant and complex, like if someone handed a third grader an eleventh grader’s geometry homework and said “Have fun!" Except, Mark _wasn’t_ having fun. He wasn’t having fun in the fucking _slightest_. All he could hear anymore was Anti’s voice. Anti’s footsteps. _Anti. Anti. Anti._ The virus was setting up some sort of tripod, but he didn’t want to think too much about it. He wasn’t sure if the echoing voices in the back of his head were his friends or if he was just going fucking _crazy_. He _felt_ crazy. None of this could possibly be real. _It just wasn’t possible_.  
     His head ached to think of the recent events. He actually couldn’t piece them all together without getting lost along the way. Besides… did he really _want_ to remember them? To remember _this_? He… didn’t have a _choice_ , did he? He lived in his head. He lived in _hell_. Anti made sure of that. Anti made _sure_ he was _hurting_.  
     _Anti_.  
     A thought popped into his head, uninvited and unpredicted. He’d been thinking about how relieved he’d be when Jack came back, when Jack _finally_ pulled through. When he defeated Anti. And… he didn’t _doubt_ Jack. He knew that Jack would make it out of this. He _knew_ he’d regain his control over his body and mind. The person he _did_ doubt was _himself_.  
     Mark knew he was weak. Sure, he _looked_ tough, all muscles and gloating, but in actuality, he couldn’t hurt _anyone_. It didn’t just take the strength, it took the _will_. Mark didn’t have it. He knew he couldn’t take much more of this. His mind was fragile. _He_ was fragile. Jack was probably his only hope now.  
     Yet, he couldn’t help but wonder… this was going to haunt him for _the rest of his life._ Everything that was unfolding, everything that was _breaking him from the inside_ , it wasn’t ever going to _leave_ , even if it _ended_. He was… traumatized. In every sense of the word, he was _traumatized_. He dreamed of flesh and blood and knives and Anti.  
     Anti, Anti, _Anti, Anti_.  
     In so many ways, Anti was a _mastermind_. A _genius_. But only because he was _delusional_. Insane. Psychotic. _Sadistic_. A _complete_ , utter _control freak_. He knew what he wanted, and he knew how to get it. Mark was… impressed by him. Mark was _impressed_ by Anti. A hard thing to admit, but it was the truth. It was so stupid. So, _so_ stupid. He could see where Anti was coming from.  
     _What_? No, he _couldn’t_. What the _fuck_ was he _thinking_? He didn’t understand _anything_. _He didn’t get it._ Where had that thought _come from_? He had _no_ pity for Anti. If he was strong enough, he’d _rip the asshole apart._ He’d do _anything_ for Jack.  
     He was stuck in an endless loop, a never ending cycle, and he hated it. He hated it _so fucking much._  
     It was almost _funny_ , how helpless he was, because here he was, tied to a table with Antisepticeye on top of him, pointing his knife at him with _purpose_. It was _almost funny,_ because he was about to get _branded_ by the _same knife_ that had torn into some random body and smashed in its skull. That knife _had_ to be unsanitary.  
     He shuddered to himself, and suddenly, he was pulled from his thoughts. He was wide awake, and he _hated_ _that_. He didn't want to be awake, not when he knew what was going to happen, not when Anti had the tip of his knife just barely pressed against his chest.  
     " _Ohh_ , kitten." Anti grinned down at him, leaning his weight just _slightly_ onto the knife. Enough for Mark to feel a little pressure and a dull poke. The excitement in the virus' eyes was so genuine, so real, so _apparent_. It made Mark feel wanted, and he tried to ward away the feeling, but it overwhelmed him. Anti was so content with _fucking_ with him, and Mark had… _really_ mixed feelings about it.  
     The cool metal traced a tiny, _just_ visible line up Mark's chest and neck, resting under his chin. He felt the point dig into his skin, and Anti lifted the knife a little, bringing Mark's head with it.  
     The look in Anti's eyes was… strange. Mark could've related it to infatuation, and it gave him chills. The idea of someone as psycho as the creature sitting on top of him being in love with him just _scared him._  
     Mark could feel the electricity crackling off of Anti, wrapping around him and enclosing the two of them in their own little world of dull buzzes, gentle noises, and psychotic laughter. His chest tightened at the barely noticeable increase of pressure. His sensitivity felt almost _heightened_ , like every brush of the knife or graze of Anti's rough, cool fingers was amplified against his skin. It felt so wrong, but… was it _that_ wrong?  
     No, yeah. It was _definitely_ that wrong. Maybe even _more_ so. Why was he questioning how bad this was? Jesus Christ. He needed to get out of here. He was going _insane_.  
     He wanted to tell Anti to stop. He wanted to escape from this, wanted Jack back, wanted to go _home_. But all he could do was watch with fear as a twitching, unsteady hand shifted upward. All he could do was listen to Anti's giggles and groans. All he could do was prepare himself as much as he possibly could. 'Anti…' that wasn't too many letters. He could do it. Hopefully. Most likely _not_.  
     Despite all of his preparation, he wasn't ready when the tip of the blade sank into his skin, disappearing into it. Searing, white-hot pain shot through his veins, and he thought he might scream. He felt it bubbling up in his throat, until he remembered... Anti had the power to hurt Jack.   
     Mark bit back the noise, letting his eyes water and allowing a faint hiss through his teeth instead.   
     Anti was laughing maniacally, his body twitching and convulsing and the static of his aura only condensing, pressing down on Mark. _Breathe. Bite your tongue, Mark. Don't let him get the best of you._  
     But it was so hard, and when the knife sliced diagonal and downward _painstakingly_ slowly, blood welling up in its path and trailing down Mark's body, he thought he might _have_ to scream. He almost did, but he _couldn't_. He couldn't do that to Jack. It wasn't _fair_. His teeth just sank into his tongue, and he squeezed his eyes shut. Tears spilled down his face, but he couldn't bring himself to be shameful about it. He couldn't bring himself to _care_ when his back arched off the table, and his toes curled as a form of coping. His nails dug into the palms of his hands, and all he could allow was a tiny squeak. He'd been biting his tongue so hard that he could taste blood, the iron tang a familiar sensation in his mouth at this point.  
     Anti's body shifted, hips pressing against Mark as he shimmied downward, finishing his incision at about three inches long. He cackled, slowly wiggling the knife from Mark's chest. He shifted upward, his knife lying on Mark as his hands cupped the American’s cheeks.  
     Instinctively, Mark's eyes opened, meeting Anti's; they were entirely devoid of their natural color, settled at a black with an almost iridescent sort of green cast to them. Mark knew his entire body was trembling, but all he could manage to do was study Anti's face. His cheeks were dusted pink- possibly a trick of the light, Mark considered- and his lips were parted, his pointed tongue tracing them hungrily and needily. Suddenly, Mark was quivering for a different reason.  
     " _Fockin' gorgeous_." The virus whispered, his face inches from Mark's.  
     _Oh God_.  
     As soon as he'd done it, he'd stopped, recoiling back to sit up straight and grip the knife he'd momentarily discarded. "So _gorgeous_ fer me," he whispered, voice alternating between high and low in rapid succession. He grinned to himself again, eyes restored to his Heterochromia blue-green. He positioned the knife where he'd started the last cut, and he was dragging it down, a smile on his face as he almost admired the crimson that swallowed his knife and spilled from the laceration, and when he pulled the knife from Mark's skin, he held it in his hands for a moment, twirling it in high regards. He let his fingers smear the blood on the knife.  
     The worst thing? Anti was slowly but _surely_ falling further and _further_ into his obsession with Mark, and this was clear to even the most oblivious (i.e. _Mark_ ). The thought alone sent chills down his spine, his eyes fixated on his gushing and heaving chest. It hurt so badly, like no pain he'd ever felt before. This was unbearable, overwhelming. He could feel his face, just barely; just enough to know it was contorted with _agony_. His lip was in his teeth, digging in and latching on as if he couldn't live without it. The pain in his chest was too much.   
     He had to scream. He _had_ to scream. He couldn't _take it. He had to scream._  
     Anti slowly dragged the knife across the previous cuts, connecting them in a jagged, almost-straight line. The edges were uneven, showing where the skin ripped. Mark's chest was rising up and down even more rapidly now, but he didn't feel like any air was filling his lungs. Every inhale shot pain through his body.  
     The demon's aura was four times as strong as it had been, and despite his steady cutting, Anti couldn't stay still. His form was twitching and fading, the air filled with a crackling that Mark thought he could relate to excitement. The giddiness in Anti's eyes was clear; he was almost _shaking_ from how ecstatic he was, his giggle high-pitched and almost childish. He was hopping from foot to foot between his slices, cradling the knife and grinning at it, only to turn the grin to Mark and start again. The electricity surrounding him isolated the two of them, putting them in what felt like an entirely artificial and different realm. There was nothing other than Anti, Mark, and _that knife_.   
     Anti was finished with the 'N' when he stopped. He lifted the knife, coated and dripping Mark's blood. He hissed in anger, his grip noticeably tighter. He looked like he was in pain. As he started the 'T,' he seemed to break, laughing wildly. Over his laugh came his voice.   
     "Scream. _Scream_ fer me. Scream, scream, _scream_! _Scream_ or I'll _fockin' kill him!_ Scream fer me, Merky." He stopped the first cut half way, letting the knife linger in his chest as he slowly flicked his gaze up to Mark. "Let it out, _kitten_." His grin faded into a smile, eyes irises shimmering blue.   
     He looked so _soft_.  
     Mark obliged, letting the sound rip from his body; a pained caterwaul, breaking his ribs and making his lungs burn and his throat all scratchy. Anti laughed frantically, his eyes glittering with pleasure and…  
     Was he…?  
     The final letter was finished; a jagged, but _definitive_ line for the 'I.'   
     The demon was panting, a look in his eyes that Mark couldn't decode, like it was a foreign language he thought he'd seen a little of. Like how you learn a little Spanish just by walking around and catching glimpses of it, and it sticks in your brain. Part of him acknowledged a familiarity to it, but he couldn't make _sense of it._  
     Mark thought he'd grown to love Anti's giggle. It hadn't been long, but you start to cherish things when you hear them every waking second for _days_ on end. That laugh was one of the only things that kept him sane. Or maybe it was one of the driving factors of his mental trip. He couldn't tell the _difference_ anymore.   
     "Merky," Anti cooed, admiring his work and leaning forward to play in the blood like a child plays in the water on the beach. "Yer _mine_ now. I've _claimed_ yeh. C-c-ca-" his voice glitched out, fading into nothing as his hissed, letting out a heavy groan. As if it never happened, he went on, a grin on his face. "Can't yeh _feel it?_ " His eyes were black, glittering with an obsessed sort of intensity.  
     Mark would never admit it, but he could. He could feel _every word_ Anti spoke echoing in his chest and pulsing through his body with purpose. He could feel Anti's heartbeat in his ears and his throat, a dull throb that was just _barely_ there. Mark _could_ feel it, whether it was a trick of his mind or not. But more than that, he felt his _chest_ , and the planned gashes aligned there. The intense stinging. He was getting used to it, but it hurt like _hell_. It hurt so badly that he couldn't think straight, and he couldn't even think about how Anti was panting and groaning on top of him and how _God awful_ that probably looked.  
     He pulled himself out of his haze at the sound of a knife clattering to the ground. A frantic shift of his eyes told him that Anti was licking his lips again, that needy, wanting, controlling gaze drinking Mark in, swallowing his every twitch and breath with his stare.   
     "So _pretty_ ," Anti breathed deeply, punctuating the end with a little gasp. "I could do _so_ m-m-much ta yeh, Merk. So," the words looped as he kept speaking, engraving themselves into Mark's brain. " _Fockin' much..._ ye'd _like_ t'at, wouldn't yeh? Ye'd _love_ usin' Jack's body teh yer advantage…"  
     "No." He spat, voice weak and more exhausted than snappy.  
     Anti giggled, tongue darting out to wet his lips. "Good answer, _kitten_." He leaned forward, his fingers holding Mark's head by the chin. His touch was _disgustingly_ gentle, and his rough fingers made Mark go limp, his body aching with an energy he couldn't describe. Anti's face was only an inch away now, and despite how jumpy his voice was, his appearance didn't have _nearly_ as much glitching in it. "D'yeh know _why_?"  
     The glitch didn't wait for an answer, instead cracking a psychotic grin and giggling softly. "'Cause this isn't _his_ body," Anti's voice was a meek, high whisper, yet still so _full_ of anger and disgust. "It's _my_ body. An' _nothin_ ' will change t'at, no matter _who's_  in control…" His voice died out, and he just stared at Mark with gentle, loving, _i_ _nsane_  eyes.  
     "Ye'll always be _mine,_ Merk. An' ye _will_ learn t'at, if it's the last t'ing I do."  
     Mark tried to stop his voice from breaking as he shakily responded, "I understand, Anti."   
     Truth be told, he'd entirely forgotten that all of his friends were watching this. Anti had set up the camera. He remembered seeing it. He hadn't _imagined_ that, right? Anti _had_ set up the camera, right? And he would've checked, but Anti's dainty, blood stained hand was still resting on the side of his head, his thumb caressing Mark's cheek almost lovingly. His head leaned to the other side of Mark's head. "So _cooperative_ fer me, kitten," he whispered, breath tickling the shell of his ear. "I could fock yeh right now. But that's no _fun_ , is it? I 'ave ta make yeh _beg._ That's goin' ta be fun. I win, _you_ win. _Jack_ wins. We all win, Merky."  
     Mark couldn't help but gasp when he felt sharp teeth nibbling on his ear, because he hadn't been expecting that, and why was he so sensitive and touch starved, and _holy_ _fucking hell did Anti just say what Mark_ _thought_ _he'd heard?_  
     Anti laughed, his breath clearly hitching. "A good boy…"  
     They sat in silence, just Anti biting and licking his ear, occasionally whispering something _sinful_ intoit. Mark had his teeth in his bottom lip so he wouldn't moan or something stupid like that.  
     One last nibble, and then Anti whispered, a definitive tone to his voice, "All _you_  have ta do is _play along."_

**Author's Note:**

> You wanted ALL of that. You didnt ask for it but you wanted it and I know you wanted it. Ya welcome hoes


End file.
